


The Shadow's Swan

by TurboNerd



Series: Cousland is Alive [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Handfasting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Personal Growth, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8552002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurboNerd/pseuds/TurboNerd
Summary: A continuation of events from 'Cousland is Alive'. It's time for Zevran and his Warden to move forward; the Warden-Commander must return to her duties. The past continues to haunt, the lovers continue to heal. Wardens, the Cure, the Crows... where do they begin when all they want is to hide away?





	1. Return to Vigil's Keep

“So, a human, an elf, and a dwarf are walking down a trail beside a stream, and they stop to take a piss.” Zevran righted his mount to walk alongside hers.

“You told me this one, Zev. Throughout the entire joke, I was fixated on the relevance of your specifying ‘a trail beside a stream.'”

“Joke immersion? I was setting up the scene.” He shrugged, seeing an example of his Nyla’s brain at work, he was not surprised, and it was endearing.

 _“Joke immersion!”_ Nyla cackled, snorted, and sighed, shaking her head. “Tell me a different one, my awe inspiring bard.”

“The young chantry sister innocently asks the Revered Mother ‘What's a blow job?’ The Reverend Mother replies, ‘Twenty gold, same as in town.”

“Ohhh no!” Nyla began with a chuckle, intensity building until she doubled over with peals of laughter, eventually reduced to snorts as she clutched at her armored belly. Horse huffed with agitation at her movement. Satisfied, Zevran wore an impish grin, having achieved his daily goal of seeing her laughter reduced to snorts.

Breathing deeply, calming from raucous laughter, Nyla wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with a gloved knuckle. “You know, Zev… I like those tight leather pants on you. They remind me of a cheap inn.”

He didn’t know where she was going with this one, but he was intrigued. “Oh yes? Why a cheap inn?”

“Because-” She stifled laughter and pursed her lips for a moment. “There’s no ballroom.”

 _“Nyla!”_ He cackled, reaching over to her and batting playfully with both hands. How had he not heard that one before? “There is plenty of ball room in my tight pants, shall I show you?”

“You showed me earlier!” She leaned away from his playful pawing, grinning ear to ear, chuckles bubbling through her chest. “It wasn’t a joke at your balls or your pants, it was a joke about cheap inns, I swear it!”

“There are few things in life more dangerous than joking about a former Crow’s testicles, Nyla. We are a very insecure establishment! _Braska!”_ With swift movements and a firm grab he caught her forearm and pulled her. “Both feet in stirrups helps keeps your ass in the saddle.”

“A stirrup almost killed me at one point, if you recall.” She pouted in embarrassment and slid her feet back into them.

“Yes, amor, of course I recall. I am the only one who recalls, if you recall.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, “And perhaps it may not have happened if you had both feet in the stirrups.”

“They were! Probably were. Just... stop this. I’m just... I’m not fucking inept. I did not learn to ride _with_ a saddle! It was never my preference to have one.”

“Ooh, Warden is feisty. Almost time for her moon.” He meant it in kind understanding, but it didn’t land as such. Quick to anger, easy to hurt, less likely to take things in stride, Zevran still loved his Warden, as always.

“You would know, you’re the one who counts the days until the next dry spell.” Fuming, she pursed her lips and looked ahead. “And you don’t get to dismiss my feelings because of my approaching moon.”

“Zevran has no qualms with a dry spell. Dry spell begins day after tomorrow.” Zevran smiled; her mouth in a cute, frustrated pout, he wanted to kiss her. “I never dismiss your feelings, I just have to be mindful of how I treat you.”

“So you’re walking on eggshells,” she shook her head with a frustrated tsk.

“Si.” He nodded, tilting his head at her. “Te amo, Nyla. Zevran does not mind.”

“Te amo. I believe you.” Nyla melted and looked at him, adoration in Zevran’s gaze, as always. “I have been gone five months, and I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. This might be a bit of a mess.”

“That is a very un-Nyla thing for Nyla to do.” He looked at her questioningly.

With a soft smile and downcast eyes she spoke, “I had no intent to return.”

Dismounting in front of the stables, they handed off their reins to the horsemaster. Zevran enjoyed how tall she walked as they entered Vigil’s Keep, recruits nodding to her with a muttered ' _Commander'_  and a salute. She acknowledged them each by name, and Zevran thought it a very Nyla way to be. He enjoyed seeing her this way. Strutting with head high, her voice deepened, she sounded more her. More… noble. He also felt special; Nyla did not speak to others in the tone she used for him. Zevran followed her to an office. Very tidy, organized, a man sitting straight-backed behind a desk.

“Constable Howe.” Nyla spoke professionally. “Anything to report?”

“Commander where have you _been?”_ He stood and saluted her. “You look well! New recruit?” He looked the intimidating elf over, sizing him up with a furrowed brow.

“I have been busy, Nathaniel. This is Zevran Arainai. He is not a recruit, he is my partner.” With a pointed glare, she enunciated, “Not a recruit.”

“The Zevran who fought by your side during the blight?” Nathaniel extended a hand. “Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe.”

“He’s my second, Zevran.” Nyla could feel the tension building as Zevran refused his hand. “Está a salvo. Es mi amigo.” _He is safe. He is a friend of mine._

Nathaniel, professional as always, held eye contact with the assassin, until Zevran met his hand with a firm grasp.

While Zevran trusted his Warden, he harbored too much anger to call this man a friend. Nyla may have forgiven him, but he could not deny the sparks of anger he felt at imagining her tears, the nightmares that plagued her, the way she still ached over her young nephew Oren… Nathaniel could never know what that did to her, and Zevran wanted him to.

Nyla could see the tension between them, and it wasn’t her problem. “Alright. Report, Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel chuckled and smirked, raising an eyebrow, “I haven’t committed the last five months to memory, Commander, please reference the high stack of parchments on your desk. More importantly, given that you went missing in action, the High Constable is here.”

“Ah, shit.” Nyla bit her lip with an irritated sigh, her hands rested on her hips. “He’s going to fuck with me, I just know it. I wish I had more women above me.” She heard a breathy chuckle and glared at Zevran, “Ni se te ocurra.” _Don’t you dare._

“Jamás se me ocurriría hacer algo así, mi amor.” _I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing._ He spoke jovially with a smirk. Yes, he found what she said to be hilarious, and a chuckle snuck up on him, and she walked right into it… but he would not intentionally, blatantly disrespect her in front of her comrades. He flashed his canines at Nathaniel, and the man postured; Zevran found him to be predictable.

“Right. Well, I’m going to go find the High-Fucking-Constable.” She paused, “Both of you wait here.” Taking a moment to meet Zevran’s gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching, she winked, “Se agradable, mi amor.” _Be nice, my love_ before turning and leaving the room. The tension between the men was palpable, but they were both good men; they simply needed a moment to work their shit out.

Zevran leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, glaring at Howe.

“So, companion to the Commander again?” Nathaniel sat at his desk and leaned on his elbows.

“Let us just say, she is not keeping me around for my lockpicking skills,” Zevran asserted with a wry grin. “And I find it hard not to resent you for what your house did to her.”

“The Howes are pariahs now-”

Zevran strode to his desk, laying his palms flat on its surface. Leaning in he snarled, “The Couslands are dead.”

Nathaniel had no reply, only stared at him patiently for the expected onslaught. As if he hadn’t heard it a hundred times before. As if he hadn’t been atoning for his father’s actions since they occurred. Zevran continued his embittered rant.

“You have not seen her suffering. Family torn from her, betrayed by one trusted, one they called friend. Sold to the Wardens to survive your father’s men, she lost her life, and horrors forced upon her, _Howe._ You should thank the Maker you get to be pariah, and not dead.”

“I am aware of what happened. Had I known what my father planned, I would have done everything in my power to stop it. She was not the only one ruined by my _house.”_ Nathaniel leaned back in his chair to put distance between them. His voice softened, and Zevran could hear the undertones of remorse; exactly what Zevran needed to hear. “The commander and I have spoken about this at great length, and I am glad I’m not the one she trusts enough to let see her suffering.”

“Because it is too akin to your own?” Zevran relaxed and backed away, gaze never leaving his.

Nathaniel tilted his head at Zevran, misery behind his eyes, “Yes.”

“I can relate.” Zevran sighed and sat in a chair near his desk. “You’re not so bad. Thank you for your patience.” He relaxed, an ankle resting on his knee, hands laced together and resting on his stomach. “So how’s the Wardening, Howe?”

“Good!” He nodded, capping his inkwell, glad that was out of the way. Nathaniel had a great deal of respect for the elf, despite the remaining tension. Having received his message, _do not fuck with her,_ Nathaniel only felt relief in knowing someone had her back. “Ever thought of becoming one? Maker knows you have spent enough time with them.”

“I have thought about it. Though, it doesn’t occur that my lady would appreciate such a thing. That, and I cannot see any real benefit at this point, as we are currently blightless.”

“Well, I am aware you are a former Crow and all that entails. Becoming a Warden saved me from those that would hunt me. Nobody trifles with Wardens. I am an outcast, but not from here.” He felt relaxed with the elf, enjoying their simple conversation which had a level of ease to it that was uncommon for him.

“What do you mean, nobody trifles with Wardens?”

“Well, nobody wants the wrath of the Wardens. We are untouchable, to the point that common folk simply don’t interact with us. Same with governments. Let’s say the Crows killed the Commander. This would be considered an act of war against all Wardens. Nobody wants to clean up that mess.”

“Ah. Good to know. I however, will remain un-wardened, as my lady seems to prefer it that way.”

“You do everything your lady tells you?” Nathaniel chuckled good-naturedly.

“Well.” Zevran shrugged, “She has never lead me astray. Except that one time. She led me astray then. But just that once. Twice, actually. Twice she led me astray. I think that’s it. To answer your question, yes I do everything my lady tells me, especially when I know she knows better than I do.”

“Smart man.” He smirked. “She’s a good woman, but has always been a pain in the ass.”

“I am inclined to agree, and find her well worth the work she involves.”

“Nyla- the Commander, seems…better than I have seen her in years.”

“Yes, we found each other. Had a shared venture.” Zevran shrugged at his own grievous understatement.

“I'm glad for that. She was not the same after-”

“You knew her growing up, no?” Zevran spoke up, unwilling to talk about something so painful for her, and himself.

“As I said, _always_ been a pain in the ass.” He chuckled through his nose with a shake of his head.

“This, I must hear.” Zevran wanted a story of little carefree Nyla, the spoiled noble who lived in a castle until the world landed on her shoulders.

Nathaniel sighed deeply, “Where to begin. She had always been kind of a softie, however, if you crossed her, which wasn’t easy, mind you, she struck low, from stealth in the dead of night. All smiles and softness one moment, and the next, your testicles were in your own hand.”

Zevran quirked an inquiring eyebrow at him. Howe spoke like Nyla, their accents and tonality very similar; it was eerie. "This sounds like her."

“Oh, I’ve got one. You will like this one.” He laughed, enjoying the memory. “She had a mabari who was quite devoted to her, and as such, only took orders from her. This mabari was always in the larder, and Nyla would have to fetch him. One afternoon I was hiding beyond the doorway of her father's room, and I heard her father scolding her. Nyla, as always was very respectful, with her ‘yes father’ and ‘I’m sorry father.’ Once he dismissed her, she breezed past me, Dog on her heel, she mutters, ‘Go fuck up the larder.’ Dog, of course, bolts away-”

“Nate!” Nyla walked in briskly with a chuckle, “I had no idea you saw that.” She spoke playfully, but Zevran could sense the tension behind her jovial demeanor. “Nos vamos ahora, Zevran.” _We are leaving now._

“Nyla, nos vamos.” _We are leaving now,_ he corrected her.

"How does that make sense?" Nyla asked with hands on her hips. Zevran simply shrugged. “Bésame el culo.” _Kiss my ass,_  she chuckled, rolling her eyes.

“Si tú quieres.” _If you want me to._

“¡Tenemos que huír! ¡Ahora!” _We have to flee! Now!_  Nyla shrugged and looked at him questioningly, not sure if she got it right.

“¡Si! ¡Bien hecho! ¿La hemos cagado?” _Yes! Well done! Shit is going down?_

“Yes! Si! Fuck!” Nyla was growing frustrated.

“¡Carajo!” _Fuck!_ Zevran instructed her as enthusiastically as she had spoken, including mimicking her hand gesture.

“Fucking… ¡Carajo! You know, that’s not nearly as satisfying,” She laughed, catching onto what he was doing, “Maker damn it, Zevran, quit fucking with me! Goodbye, Nate.” She stopped to salute the startled and confused man with arms crossed against her chest.

“Bye, Commander.” He returned her salute.

Nyla walked briskly toward the exit, Zevran pacing her. Once outside of the keep, Nyla broke into a sprint, and Zevran kept up with her, wondering what was going on. Entering the stables, Nyla snapped her fingers at the horsemaster and pointed to Zevran’s mount. Saddled and ready within minutes, they charged away as if death was on their heel.

Galloping hard, Zevran followed, she periodically looked back to make sure he was still there. After an hour of hard running, Nyla slowed and dismounted.

“Amor?” He inquired softly as he dropped from his horse.

“They conscripted you, Zev.” She sniffed and wiped her cheek with her wrist. “Their rationale was one of practicality, and utility. He knew the Crows are still after you. He insisted you are a liability to their Warden-Commander. Being a former Crow, they considered you an asset, they imagined you would have useful knowledge or… or Crow secrets.” She paced, running her hand over her head. “I tried to argue at first, but I thought if I kept arguing… fuck… I said I understand, played it off that I agree… that’s when we fled. Andraste’s tits, forced fucking conscription? We’re not even in a fucking blight!” She turned around and punched a tree with a frustrated growl.

He rushed toward her and grabbed her hands. “No no no no, amor, do not punch trees.” This was odd; his woman never _punched_ things.

“They conscripted _you!_ ” She pulled away from him, pacing, animated with wide gestures expressing her sense of incredulity. “I was the only Warden when the blight ended, Zevran. I had to single-fucking-handedly rebuild this order, and I did. One would think I could have just one liberty, one fucking thing for myself. Have I not given enough?” She slowed down, pacing, eyes on the ground, wide with panic. “Zevran, they likely won’t pursue, but… we're not going back. We should be fine. They aren’t going to use their time to chase one conscript.”

Pacing heightened his own sense of urgency and he grasped her arms gently, holding her still. “Nyla, why did you not let them conscript me? I wouldn’t mind being Warden, especially if it served you.”

“Because, listen, I’m going to tell you. I’m not supposed to.” Nyla stood close to him, meeting his eyes. “Because the joining could kill you, and I do not like the odds.”

“Zevran does not like them either.” It did not elude him that Nyla had just given up her Warden life to ensure his survival; he would have done the same. Zevran gazed into her eyes feeling his love for her, so rich, so deep and profound the word love seemed insufficient. “Nyla... you had me.”

“Yes, I will always have you,” she paused, biting pursed lips and wondering how to continue. “There was no way of knowing if you would survive the Joining, and there’s one more thing… another reason I don’t want you to be a Warden. I keep putting off telling you this, and it is going to hurt.”

“Go on,” he spoke patiently, his apprehensive gaze still on her.

“Wardens typically have thirty years to live from the time of their joining.”

“There is no cure for this?” He asked quickly as agony rolled through him.

“Zev… no. There’s no cure. I joined during the Blight. Senior Wardens speculate that I may only have half that.”

“Shit.” Zevran wavered on his feet. _“Shit.”_ It hit him hard; eleven-ish years was far too few. “No, Nyla. Absolutely not.”

“Darling,” she tried not to cry as abject horror flashed over his gaze, “Zevran, we can’t will it away.”

“How will you die? Just fall over dead?” He reached up a shaky, gloved hand and wiped her tears away. “How unpredictable is this?”

“I don’t know what it’s like, but they say we know when it’s time. We refer to it as our Calling. At that point we go into the Deep Roads to die honorably.” She sighed, swallowed, the next part harder to say. “Or, given time, we become a ghoul.”

“No.” He spoke firmly, his anger flared. “No fucking Calling. No becoming a ghoul. We will grow old together, Nyla, we will die _together.”_ His aching heart pounded in his chest. “This is bullshit, Nyla. I do not want _my_ Nyla with the fucking Wardens anyway; doing their bidding, constant darkspawn killing and bullshit caves.” His anger got bigger the more he examined it, and his voice louder as he spoke. “Bad enough you must live with a taint, making you feel connected to evil things… and… and… _you fucking pay for it?”_

“Come here.” Nyla whispered, pulling him close. He leaned into her embrace. “I’m sorry. That was too much at once. Te amo. What time I have left in this world, I am yours.”

“No, Nyla.” He pulled away from her. “You are not hearing me. No taint, no Calling. We have years to find a cure, we will find one.”

“Zev?” She felt soft, so very in love as she looked into his golden eyes. “You are everything to me, as well.”

“I know.” With a rich sigh, his anger calmed under the hope she did not have to die. He no longer felt powerless, and he relaxed in her arms. “Now say it in Antivan.”

“I don’t want to.” Nyla wrapped her arms more snugly around him.

“When we get to camp, I will do that thing with my tongue that makes Nyla’s toes curl.”

“Lo eres todo para mi.” _You are everything to me._ She purred with a coquettish grin and leaned in for a kiss.


	2. Affectionate Touches

Settled in their campsite after a day of hard travel, Nyla had insisted they kept moving until nightfall. While it wasn't likely Wardens would pursue, the pressure to hand over the Crow was strong. Knowing her own luck, Nyla would not take any chances on letting them catch up.

"You should sleep." Nyla spoke softly to him as he stared pensively into the fire. Settling close beside him, shoulder to shoulder, she stretched out her legs and idly caressed the top of his bare foot with her toes. With a gentle kiss on his cheek she asked, "Is there something on your mind?"

"Many things," he spoke with a deep and tired sigh. "Your calling, where to begin finding a cure. Also, I am thinking, since we are headed toward Highever-"

"No." Nyla spoke kindly, but firm. "I can't. Not now."

"When? Nyla, I know this is difficult for you, but you should see Fergus, we are passing literally right by him. Leaving Ferelden, we do not know our likelihood of seeing him again. This could very well be the only opportunity we have."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I haven't spoken to him in almost five years, Zevran, I can't just show up."

"Amor, he knows I have you. It would not surprise him so much."

Nyla leaned away from him in startled surprise. "How does he know? What exactly does he know?"

"He does not know the nature of our togetherness but… he knows I have you."

"How? Zevran, that is a big secret you have kept from me." Fergus, being an immense sore spot for her, Nyla had never intended to see or speak with him again.

"I was not trying to keep a secret, I gave the letter to Wynne right in front of you, you never asked. I told him I found you, that you were safe, that you were unwell. It was the right thing to do, mi amor."

"Was it the right thing to do?" Nyla leaned against him with a sigh, head on his shoulder, inwardly groaning over her fear of Fergus knowing anything about her; there were far too many changes within her, and she did not want him to see them.

"Yes. It was the right thing to do." Zevran kissed her forehead.

"If you say so." She whispered, kissing his shoulder several times.

"Good, then we go to Highever, say a quick hola to Fergus, and then we fuck off into the sunset. Si?"

"No no no… I don't agree with that." She laughed and felt horrified at the same time. "I can't."

"Nyla." He pulled her closer, one arm around her waist, the opposite hand cupping her cheek, guiding her to look at him. "Tell Zevran why not. None of this 'I can't' bullshit."

"Too many memories. I don't want to face it all. I don't want to face Fergus. I don't want him to see what I have become. I don't want to see his disappointment in me... for leaving him alone."

"This is exactly why we _should_ go. Face it. I will face it with you. I have you." He shrugged and smiled as if it were no big deal. "Think of it as you would a sudden excursion into the Deep Roads; exploring for growth, only this time there is no chance of anyone dying."

"Little shit," Nyla whispered with a chuckle, staring at him for a time, his hand on her cheek and an arm around her. She had been brave before, jumped into the unknown with even greater risk than pain; he did have a point. Golden hair laying on his shoulders, tucked behind those ears she adored so much, framing his masculine features with a softness that suited him. His eyes searched her face, she could feel his love; warmth spread throughout her chest. _With you by my side, I could face anything._

"We will go." Nyla whispered, and Zevran smirked at her in giddy satisfaction. "Zev, one of these days, I hope to catch you in such a way."

"You mean like during the blight?" Zevran tilted his head at her. "I told you everything, and your ear was more than I believed I deserved. You have caught me, my Warden. Several times."

"Please don't call me that. I'm not a Warden." Chuckling through her nose she whispered, "I just get to die like one."

"It's _not going to happen_ , Nyla. I need you to believe it," he implored her gently. "I don't want to be the only one of us with faith in our cause."

"My love," Nyla crooned moving to sit behind him, wrapping arms around his shoulders and resting her head against the back of his neck. "I do have faith in us."

He laced his fingers with hers and kissed the back of her hand, his lips lingering on her skin in a gesture of affection. "Gracias, mi amor." Zevran sighed, leaning into her, generous bosom pressing against his back as her chin rested on his shoulder. They sat in relaxed silence for several minutes, exchanging affectionate touches, indulging in the lightness of being together without the stress of travel.

"Why is your armor reminiscent of a crow?" Nyla spoke quietly, gently brushing her nose against his cheek. "I keep forgetting to ask."

"The mask is a skull. A statement of my intent. Also, I see the crow as a… totem. Or spirit animal." Zevran shrugged, "They are clever, fearless, curious, and prey on birds much bigger than them."

"Ah. Yes. That does make sense." Holding him tighter against her, she cuddled him, basking in the warmth of their bodies pressed together. "Are you preying on a much bigger bird?"

"When I consider you," he spoke quickly, "I think swan."

"Really?" she rested her cheek on his shoulder, and he turned his head to look at her.

"Definitely swan. They are loud. Always making sounds, territorial… they shit everywhere. Sounds like you, no?"

"Oh definitely," she spoke plainly.

"Nyla." Zevran chuckled, shaking his head with a tired sigh. She nibbled his jaw with a sly giggle. "They represent many of my favorite things. Beauty, elegance, love, change." He held tight to her hands. "Shortly after I met you, I dreamed of swans on the water. A peaceful dream, and when I emerged from my tent, you were there, black hair wet and swept back, in your white under armor. Long elegant neck beneath a head held high and smiling in the morning sun. You smiled at me, beckoned me to join for our morning meal. I felt... something." He smiled, grateful to have her warm body against him. "Swans bond for life, and protect their nests aggressively."

"It does sound like me!" She chortled, feeling sore and soft imagining his love gone unrequited for so long, when he deserved so much more; how ignorant she was to it when it had been so obvious. She kissed the tip of his ear. "You feel tense." Nyla pulled her hands away from his to work firm fingers against his neck and shoulders. "So tense, darling. Today has been hard for you. Learning what you have learned."

"I am sorry, that you are no longer Warden." Eyes closed, he grunted and let his head fall slack as she pressed into a particularly sore spot between his neck and shoulder.

"It hurts, but it's easier because I still have you," Nyla whispered, pressing her lips to his ear again. "I have given enough to the Wardens. Te amo."

"Te amo." Zevran spoke breathlessly, her devotion igniting his desire. Turning his head, he kissed her deeply. "I believe I owe you a reward for speaking such excellent Antivan."

"Not tonight." Standing, she guided him to lay back on the bedroll as he looked up at her with an inquisitive stare. "Let me give to you."

Surrendering to her whims, relaxing beneath her touch, was an acquired skill; one she warmly encouraged as her hands wandered up his shirt and caressed his chest and stomach. _"Te amo, Zevran,"_ she whispered, eyes on his, pulling at the laces of his pants to free him. Taking him first in her hand, slow languid strokes as she kissed him all over, worshiping him in a way he wasn't convinced he deserved. Then between her lips; hot mouth, rough tongue dragging along him, making him shudder and reach out to her. To feel her under his palms, touching, caressing her arms, soft hair, smooth cheeks, cradling her face in his hands as her head bobbed slowly with a gratified hum. He could feel her enjoyment in pleasing him, and his head fell back in the throes of this pleasure; how badly he wanted to give back to her.

Always, her dark eyes were waiting to meet his when he looked down at her. The hollowing of her cheeks excited him, and her hand joined her mouth, working in tandem with her clever mouth until he groaned her name. Stomach muscles clenched, he reached down and held her hand, so needy for her as he panted, releasing into her mouth with a strained and breathy groan. She only let him go when he stilled, and she brushed his hands away to gingerly tie his breeches for him; he felt loved.

"Let yourself sleep, darling." She whispered with a smile, caressing his face, the abrasive sensation in the back of her throat making her feel thirsty. "Te amo."

"Te amo, Nyla." He wanted her in his arms, but she was on watch.

Nyla sat near him, and took a long draw from her water skin. Zevran saw the blush of her cheeks, eyes lusty, bosom rising and falling, _"let me give to you"_ she had said, and he gave her exactly what she wanted without question; offering her anything now would likely detract from her loving gesture, and possibly cause her sadness. _So sweet, my Nyla._ Sated and in love, he watched her through heavy lidded eyes until succumbing to sleep.

Nyla had only wanted to make him rest. His sleep had been broken and restless in recent nights, and his fatigue was beginning to show. With a Warden's stamina Nyla could stay awake for days if she remained fed and uninjured. While Zevran's stamina was nothing to scoff at, his need for rest was greater, and Nyla remained mindful of this.

While there was significant doubt that Wardens would come, it left her paranoid. Crows on his heel, and they had still seen no Crows: paranoid. It seemed the world was out to get them. Listening to the night sounds, senses heightened by the looming fear of those who would seek to harm him, Nyla never wanted to sleep again.

Scowling bitterly at her Warden armor, she equipped herself fully. It was all she had until she could get to an armory; and to think she used to be so proud to wear her Warden-Commander armor. Donning her weapons, she sat next to her love. Patiently she watched, listened with bated breath. A chill fell over their camp, and she piled more blankets on him, making him stir and glance at her before drifting off again. Stoking the fire and adding wood she determined, wherever they went, they had to get out of Ferelden; her love was just too susceptible to the cold.

Periodically she would patrol, wishing she had Zevran's elf eyes so she could see the source of an occasional sound; rustling in the brush, the startling noises of woodland creatures. If Zevran were awake, he would peer into the darkness and tell her, _'A rabbit. Is my Warden feeling hungry again?'_ He would say that, if she were still a Warden. The ache hit her again and she reminded herself that it was necessary and right to leave. A Warden for so long, it was hard to imagine herself as anything else.

Zevran sat up with a gasp, startled from sleep.

"Estoy justo aquí." _I'm right here._ Nyla spoke from where she stood, peering into the thick of trees. She strode to him, sitting on the ground beside him. "Bad dream?"

"Ghoul Nyla haunts my sleep." Zevran scrubbed his face with his palms. He blinked at her sleepily with a furrowed brow, "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Seven hours. I was going to wake you in one more. Would you like to sleep longer?"

"I do not want to go back to sleep after that." He furrowed his brow at her, feeling disgruntled and groggy, hazy visions of her beautiful face darkened, with eyes an eerie shade of grey, _'no no please, mi amor, too soon, we need more time!'_ "Aren't you tired?"

"I'm afraid if I sleep you will be gone when I wake."

"Nyla, where exactly would I go?" Zevran quirked an eyebrow and smiled at her. His Nyla was being so silly, so cute, so annoying first thing in the morning.

"I'm not crazy, Zev." She moved closer to him, pleading for him to understand. "I can't shake this feeling. I can't make this make sense. I feel so fucking powerless."

"Come here." He reached out to her and pulled her into a tight hug, his hand caressing her hair. "Nyla is not crazy. Te amo."

"Te amo." Nyla relaxed in his embrace, the scent of him calmed her, and her eyes grew moist in recalling what a long and lonely night it had been. For months, hidden in the thick of the Planasene Forest, they slept together, woke together, and she wished they could just go back. "No te vayas, por favor." _Please don't leave._

"No voy a irme a ninguna parte." _I'm not going anywhere._ "And you don't get first watch anymore." He kissed her cheeks. "Care to nap while I make us something to eat and pack the horses?" He asked gently before standing for a stretch.

"No, can we eat on the road? I want to keep moving. Stop at Highever, say hola to Fergus and fuck off into the sunset, like we planned."

 

*******

 

"Nyla." Zevran urged his mount to a trot to catch up and ride beside her; he had fallen back to see if both feet were still in the stirrups. "Amor?" Lost in her thoughts again. Zevran imagined her fretting over Highever, which they could see in the distance. "Nyla?" He leaned in and spoke sweetly, "Te amo."

"Te amo." She turned her head with a small smile. "Were you saying something?"

"Please place your feet in the stirrups." She complied without argument and resumed her staring at Highever. "A man and a woman started to have sex in the middle of a dark forest. After fifteen minutes, the man sits up and says, 'I wish we had built a fire!' The woman says, 'So do I, you have been eating grass for the past ten minutes."

"Wait… so the woman could see him eating grass the whole time? She must have been able to see in the dark. Perhaps elven, with beautiful glowing eyes like yours," Nyla giggled. "Why didn't she say something sooner? Or did she enjoy watching someone eat grass? No that wouldn't make sense, she did complain about it."

"It was a joke." Zevran furrowed his brow.

"Was it? I couldn't tell." She pursed her lips and watched him from the corner of her eye. "It sounded like a terrible story with loopholes."

"You are teasing me!" He batted at her with the back of his hand. "Well played, Nyla." She laughed hard at him, and he was pleased.

"I'm not sure I want to do this," she whispered, an apprehensive glance in his direction as they approached the gates of Castle Cousland.

"I have you." Zevran reached out, and she held tight to his hand.

He appeared unperturbed, and she loved him for it, as his strength bolstered hers. Sitting up straight in her saddle she looked forward, the comfort of his gloved hand around hers.

"Te amo, Zevran." She spoke with a serious tone, and he matched her.

"Te amo, Nyla."

"Shit. Fuck. I wish they wouldn't do this." She sighed as a few young men ran from them, shouting.

_"The Hero has returned! The Hero is here!"_

"Zevran, hide me." Nyla chuckled, sighing deeply. Zevran looked ahead, proud to be by her side.

The familiarity of everything felt eerie; this was not her home. This was the place she had died with her family, to be reborn at Ostagar.

The horsemaster approached and Zevran was there to catch her as she landed on shaky legs; she would really liked to have seen the acrobatic feat he must have performed to dismount and be at her feet by the time the horsemaster took her reins.

"I have you." He spoke with a whisper, shapely lips in a small smile just for her. They walked together, heads held high, onlookers silent and saluting, some bowing their heads.

 _"The woman who ended the blight."_ Nyla heard someone whisper, and she felt a pang of sadness for the one who had struck the killing blow.

"It's Fergus, Zev. Look at him." She expected someone tired, grieving, but he walked tall, eyes searching for her. Bearded, regal, it was too much and her heart beat hard, aching with love and remorse. How she had missed him, how _sorry_ she was for letting him go. His eyes found hers, and she smiled.

"I have you, I am here," Zevran spoke softly, and Nyla felt more prepared as Fergus smiled and came toward her at a jog.

The closer he came, the more it ached and she ran, hearing a happy chuckle from Zevran that reminded her again, she was not alone, and big brother was coming toward her with open arms and tears in his eyes. When he reached out to grab his baby sister she flung her arms around his neck as she used to, and he held her with feet dangling in the air.

Zevran bore witness as Fergus laughed, pet Nyla's braided hair, held tight to her; it hurt sweetly. He had no concept of what it was to have a sibling, other than one does not seek such a bond. The child next to you could die in a frivolous trial tomorrow, or be the one they demanded you fight to the death - especially if you bonded with them. This was 'siblings', and he could not imagine what having a little sister would feel like. Walking toward them as Fergus placed her on her feet again, the resemblance between them was striking as they grinned at each other. Fergus reached a hand out to Zevran for a firm handshake, pulling him into a grateful hug, patting his back.

Reaching toward Nyla, excited for her, smiling and brushing her tears away with the back of his index finger, she returned his smile with a bout of giddy laughter, and Fergus caught on quickly. When they looked up at him, he nodded and smiled; simple acceptance, followed by an invitation to enter.

 

Why Fergus made the interior of Castle Cousland look the exact same as it had before, Nyla would never know. Nor would she be able to comprehend how he could live there without feeling as if wandering through a living nightmare.

Perhaps it was because he wasn't there when it happened. He hadn't seen the warm remains of his own wife and son, he hadn't been the one to leave his parents to die in the larder. Fergus wasn't there for the fleeing, screaming, horrified women, children, men... and no soldiers, not even big brother Fergus to protect them. Scrambling into armor to fight for life and limb through flame and pooled blood, surrounded by the screams of everyone she had known and loved. Dog protecting her with the snap of bone and wails of the dying as Nyla killed for the first time. Killed, and killed, and killed...

"I have you." Zevran took her hand as she looked around her. "Look at me."

Eyes snapped to his, and without thinking, her mouth moved with an almost imperceptible whisper, "I smell blood and fire."

Zevran's heart plummeted with her, and he pulled her close, holding her head against his neck.

"I'm okay." Nyla spoke, pulling away.

"No one needs you to be okay, mi amor." Zevran whispered, though words always seemed empty when she trembled and swore okayness.

Fergus' face fell as the ache of not having protected his little sister grew louder and more poignant. As Nyla walked away, Fergus could only hang his head in shame and remorse; she should have been Tyrna, safe in their family's castle.

"I'm going to show Zevran around." Nyla turned around and looked at her big brother with a wry smile. "I just need to work some shit out."

"Nyla, before you go… where is your mabari?" Fergus finally had the nerve to ask, imagining he knew the answer but having a need to know the circumstances.

"Dead of blight sickness." Her smile was soft, her forehead wrinkled; it spoke volumes. "I couldn't find a simple flower in time to save him."

"Sorry," Fergus understated with a sore heart, nodding patiently with a returned smile. Little sister bore the look of a war-weary soldier, that was, until she laid eyes on the elf, and she softened. Familiar femininity and grace shone through, and Fergus was able to breathe easier knowing that she had some happiness in her life. _Little sister, Hero of Ferelden._


	3. The Hero's Nightmare

"I had a family once, Zev. You know?" Nyla spoke softly, holding his hand as she guided him down familiar corridors. An obvious question, she only wanted to hear his voice as they strode down Highever's haunted passageways.

"Yes, mi amor. Mother and father, a brother, a sister-in-law, and young nephew Oren," Zevran matched her gentle tone. Glancing behind them, he imagined small Nyla skipping along with ribbon-bound pigtails, dress flouncing around her knees; for fun, or with purpose, or to run into her father's arms. Beautiful to imagine, leaving him with a twinge of want for a daughter.

"Yes. I spent most of my life on these grounds. It looks the same. Interesting, how he kept it the same. _Why?_ I would change everything. This room was mine. My private space." Continuing softly, she pointed, "My bed. My mabari slept there on the floor. I loved my window and the light that came through. So warm. I liked to read a lot. Adventure stories, history books."

"Where did you read?" He watched her closely; nervous excitement, undertones of melancholy. She seemed to light up when hearing from him, eager to answer his question.

"On my bed. Or on the floor. Dog and I would lay in the sun, following it as the day went on. Even Oren would sometimes bring his own books and join us, sometimes asking me to read my book aloud." Nyla smiled for a moment before her face darkened again. "My mother had come to me that night, wearing leathers, she had a bow. Beautiful. I had never seen her that way. My mother was an archer." Nyla smiled, chest subtly rising with a swell of pride. She sighed, pacing around the room, a brief glance at what were once her personal effects, her gaze lingering on a bookshelf. She went toward the door and he followed her in somber silence.

They didn't have far to go. A few paces across the way, and Zevran wanted to offer her something. Comfort, to ease the ache he could see in her, and hear in her tone.

"Fergus' room. I would read to Oren here when he was very small. No blood on the floor. Of course, why would there be? Sometimes we would play with wooden swords. He would hate it when I let him win every time." She smiled at Zevran. "He wanted a _challenge,_ he said. And if he was feeling extra cheeky, he would stand on me and insist he was the Hero of Ferelden. Funny, hmm? He was making that shit up as he went along. He would be so proud of his auntie. This… this spot right here is the last time I spoke to him. He asked 'Will you teach me to use a sword, Auntie?' Of course, I enthusiastically agreed because the boy had me wrapped around his little finger. And you know what Fergus said?" Nyla bit her lip, hands on her hips, near crying... or perhaps laughing... maybe both; Zevran couldn't tell.

"No, amor. What did Fergus say?" His voice sounded a little more somber than he had intended.

"Don't worry, son, you'll get to see a sword up close real soon, I promise." Her shoulders shook for a moment.

Overwhelmed with her pace, her tone, her voice subtly trembled, he reached toward her, and she unwittingly stepped just outside of his grasp.

"Right here, Zev." She stopped and stood still, meeting his eyes. "This is where I found him dead with his mother. I imagine she fought hard for him." She pressed a gloved hand to her lips, eyes tearing.

He pulled her into his arms, and she tried to pull away. He held her tighter, spoke kindly toward her, "Let me have you, amor. Do not be cold."

"Thank you… I love you." She sighed deeply with her forehead pressed snug against his neck.

"He would be thirteen right now. And I was just one room over."

"Not your fault, Nyla."

She pulled away from him holding tight to his hand, and they walked briskly for a time. "That passageway was flames, my mother on my heel, said to get to the kitchens... I needed to do something. So many people. This room, all dead. And those rooms…" she walked faster, "empty soldiers' sleeping quarters. People ran screaming, fire everywhere, nobody knew what to do, it was panic and I killed. I had never killed before that night." She walked with him a little faster. "Here, my mother, my mabari and I fought four, and it was close, blood on my hands, blood on my face… my body count was seven, and I was so exhausted. I stopped counting, after that. I was a killer, and it didn't matter."

"Okay amor?" Zevran ached for his love with her wide, glassy eyes. "We could stop a moment?"

"No no, I'm okay. We're almost there." She sniffled, lowered her head as they rushed past a wandering few and she spoke soft, looked much like a lost child. "That room, all dead. Flames there, we had to go back this way. Find a different route to meet my father at the secret way out. Elves were here. They were our help, people we paid for their services. We had no slaves." She held tight to his arm. She guided him into the kitchen. "Please leave," she spoke to the few staff without meeting their eyes. They left, and she continued.

"Here, through the kitchen, into the larder... my father laid there in a pool of his own blood. My mother clung to him refusing to leave. Father insisted he couldn't make it. Duncan, he stood here, refusing to help them, said we would move too slow… but he had time to talk out a deal with my father, to save me if he could have me for the Wardens. Duncan was an asshole. I said no, but my father told me what to do, and I always did what father wanted. Become a Warden, find Fergus, see that justice was done… he didn't say what to do after that and I wish he had. As we were leaving, I looked back at my mother, she was standing ready with bow drawn. Tall and regal, beautiful." Nyla stood tall, arms positioned as if drawing a bow. "Ready to defend, ready to die. I resented her for leaving me. She may lose my father but she had me. She left me alone."

Her arms dropped, and finally she looked back at him. Lips pursed into a quivering frown, face darkened, brow furrowed and eyes serious, "I get it now, Zev. I am exactly like my mother. I would fight for you until my last breath."

Zevran had no words. Teeming with love, anger and sadness, he was glad to have witnessed the murder of the man responsible for such atrocities, and at the same time, unsatisfied. He rushed toward her, desperate to comfort, to stop the darkness trying to eat her away. Arms wrapped around her and she clung to him, he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, tears soaking his lips. Horrors, betrayal, cruelty, heinous barbarity… he did not have enough words to encapsulate what had happened on these haunted grounds.

"Te amo." He whispered, it was all he had.

"Te amo," she whispered with a small smile. "Help me make a beautiful memory?"

"Hmm. Hop on Zevran's back." He smirked and turned around. A gesture with his hands, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaped, wrapping her legs around his waist. He hooked his arms under her knees and gave her an adjusting bounce. Zevran whisked his love away; out of the larder, out of the kitchen, and away from her nightmare. The kitchen staff smiled with heads bowed as Zevran flounced by with their Hero on his back. "Tell me about how troublemaker Nyla's mabari used to fuck up the larder."

"Well!" She chuckled, resting her chin on his shoulder. "My good boy always fucked up the larder for me when I was feeling a little spiteful. I was often punished for not being responsible with my mabari. Father would make me clean up the mess, and he would give our overworked, elven servants the night off." Nyla smiled proudly.

"Aah, so troublemaker Nyla always had love for elves?"

"Well, yes! I mean… but not especially. Nan was harsh toward them. _Get back to work, you lazy elves!"_ Nyla mimicked Nan's raspy voice. "They weren't lazy. They made us good food to eat."

"Adorable. How sneaky." He chuckled, bouncing her a little to get a better grip on her thighs. "Where is anything around here? Nyla, parts of your house are _uphill!_ I feel like I am walking in circles."

"You are, love." Nyla nibbled his ear.

"Braska!" Zevran hissed with a shiver. Her aim had become spot-on as of late, and it was a bit much. "I do not like when you attack my erogenous parts when we are not being sexy. So quit, or Nyla will be banged against the nearest wall."

"Is that a threat or a promise? See, I'm confused, because you said that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not?" He stopped and turned his head to look at her with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't serious, but she seemed to be, and she had a skill for tricking him with the seriousness of her tone.

"No?" She tilted her head at him.

"So…" he bounced her again, getting a better hold on her; it seemed inappropriate but, true to form, if his Nyla was in the mood, Zevran could manage it. "Quickie?"

"Adventurous! That way." She pointed with a chuckle, and he started taking wider strides. "At the end of this corridor, go right. The door on the very end."

"This place is a very big place. Why are we going to this room in particular?"

"You'll see." Nyla whispered.

They approached the door, and Zevran turned to the side, Nyla grabbed the door handle and pulled it open with a hard tug. They stopped short, heads tilting, eyebrows expressing confusion and surprise, looking into the oversized storage space.

"Nyla." Zevran laughed, "There are far too many things in this room."

"I see that!" She cackled with a snort, "It used to be almost empty! At least _something_ has changed! Just move that shit out of the way, we can make it work." Nyla rested her cheek on his shoulder to watch the confusion and befuddlement wash over his features.

"We cannot, Nyla, this room is _far_ too full of things." Zevran turned his head to look at her and chuckled at her sly smile. "You are fucking with me."

"I know!" Nyla laughed heartily, hugging him and burying her face in his neck. "You don't even like quickies. I just wanted to see if you could follow through."

"They are boring."

"I know, Zev."

"Always having to stop myself from doing so many things."

"I know."

"Far too much _clothing!"_ Zevran insisted, as if trying to convince her of the legitimacy of his aversion.

"I know," Nyla chuckled.

"Release is all fun and good, but to what purpose if I cannot fuck my woman proper?"

"I know, darling."

"Zevran did not know it was possible for sex to piss him off."

"Yes, my love. I get it." She bounced gently with a chuckle. "Te amo. Hard left and onward, noble steed."

He smiled and followed her instructions. "We are spending the night, no?"

"Oh, no no. I wish to fuck off into the sunset as we had planned."

"Warm bath."

"Well… another left and through the door. That's the main hall, where we started."

"Soft bed to make love in." He purred, turning his head to look at her.

"I do like the sound of that." Leaning in close to his ear, she whispered, "And you owe me one completion."

"I absolutely do!" He chortled happily and skipped a few times. "Nyla, collecting on her debts! Staying, then?"

"Why are you trying to convince me to stay here, Zev?" Nyla reached for the door handle and pulled it open as he leaned. "It doesn't feel quite right to do so."

He bounced her again to right her on his back and skipped to the center of the room, giving her a few playful turns. "We are here for brave Nyla to face this, face big brother, and not just come to look at corridors and leave."

Nyla chuckled at his mirth, loving him, loving his play. "My love, there's nothing else to see. I'm done here. A little darkness and a little levity, just like everything else we- what is that?"

"What is what?" He spoke breathlessly, releasing her when her tone turned suddenly cold. He tried to follow her gaze and still had no idea what could be causing her distress. She had gone quiet, face fallen. "Amor, what is wrong?"

"There used to be a painting of my father here… _what is this shit?"_ She gestured with an open palm.

"It's gone, Pup." Fergus had gone unnoticed, standing by the hearth at the end of the large room. "We lost anything reminiscent of House Cousland during the time Howe occupied Highever. This is what I chose as its replacement."

"You chose an artist's depiction of _me_ fighting the Archdemon? By _myself?"_ Nyla narrowed her eyes at him, demanding explanation.

"It's beautiful. It's a painting of the Hero. My little sister. Believe it or not, it is a point of pride for me."

"I _wasn't alone,_ Fergus," she spoke softly. "I didn't even kill the Archdemon. Don't you care about the truth?"

"Of course I do! Four years of your disappearing acts under the guise of duty, where was I supposed to learn the truth? You ran away after the King's funeral, and it hurt like losing my family all over again. I have been praying for your return ever since. You should not have left."

 _"Why?"_ She strode up to him. "What do you _want?"_

"You were the only one to survive the assault. Nothing was left, not even a body to mourn. What _happened_ to our family _?"_

"No survivors?" Nyla felt physically ill, lightheaded, stomach turning. "Not a single one? Not even…” She swallowed in her efforts to avoid being sick.

"Just you. Please, tell me what happened to our family that night."

Nyla met his dark, anguished eyes as he pleaded for information he believed would bring him closure, and the pressure to speak mounted. Why did he believe the story would bring him anything but nightmares?

"What makes you think I survived that night, Fergus, my pulse?" She looked at the floor, feeling trapped. "They're gone. What more do you _want?"_

"Gone how? Where exactly, _how_ exactly did they die? Did they suffer?" He ached for something, to _know_ anything, and he firmly believed that whatever it was he needed, his little sister had it.

 _"Did they fucking suffer?_ Strange men woke them from sleep, Fergus, what do _you fucking think?_ " Tears slipped down her cheeks and she swiped them away with her palm. "Perhaps I should give _you_ the fucking tour." Zevran's hand rested on her shoulder.

"No, amor. Too much. Fergus must continue to live here." Her head whipped around to meet Zevran's earnest gaze, realizing she had lost sight of her desire to protect Fergus, and felt gratitude for Zevran's impulse to remind her.

"What am I supposed to _say,_ Zevran? That I was sound-asleep in my fucking smalls, attacked by likely the same fucking men who killed Oren and Oriana?" She met Fergus's soft stare. "My mabari tore two of them limb from limb, while I drove another man's nose to the back of his skull with the heel of _this_ fucking hand. Little sister's first kill."

He moved toward her, she backed away. "Nyla… We don't need to speak of it like this."

"Then how? Gruesome details over tea?" His comment stung. After probing her for information, tearing open her wounds and laying her heart bare, he had the gall to tell her that she was sharing it all wrong. _"This_ is all part of it, Fergus. _I_ am what is left of the Cousland family massacre, and if you want to know the truth, just fucking _look at me!_ You look at what happens when you leave your family fucking defenseless."

"So you do blame me." He stared hard at her, his fears confirmed.

"I _told_ you it felt wrong! I asked you to stay, I _implored_ you and father to leave some troops behind. Maker fucking forbid we do anything in order to preserve our own fucking teyrnir! Did you think I was _paranoid?_ Had I ever in my fucking _life_ been prone to delusions? Maker's fucking breath, Fergus, with little effort, _we could have avoided everything!"_

"No, Pup." Tired eyes met hers, his forehead wrinkled and lips pursed, Fergus implored her for understanding. "I have been over this in my mind more times than I can count. Howe wanted our teyrnir. Howe knew who was here and how many. He would have sent more, and we would have lost more. The only ones at fault are the ones directly responsible."

 _"Bullshit!"_ Nyla wept, looking away to hide her tears. "Bullshit, Fergus. Those of us who could fight, fought to our very _deaths._ Those who couldn't fight were slaughtered. All they did was flee and die. We needed _help,_ Fergus. I needed you- we needed your _men._ "

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you, sister. I'm sorry I didn't take you more seriously. You were _right."_

"Damn it, Fergus!" Her frustration mounted, the conversation had gone so out of control, so off course, she didn't even know what she was fighting for anymore. "I was _right?_ Is that supposed to make it all better?"

"I am painfully aware that remorse doesn't bring back the dead." His patience grew thin, and his heart grew hard. "What happened to mother and father?"

"They _died!"_ Nyla pressed her fingers to her eyes, hiding behind her hands. "A _glorious_ death at the hands of Howe's goons while I fled. _Why_ must you make me speak of this?"

Zevran, knowing offered perspective was often good, remained aware of the two people who needed to fight it out. He watched their process, their motions, the similarities between them; the way they were quick to delegate responsibility, on themselves or others, when they burned to know why something had happened. The way they listened selectively while in conflict, somehow circling what truly mattered over and over, just barely missing it. He stood back and watched patiently as they fought, scanning for a way he could helpfully interfere, if at all.

"While you fled, Nyla? You blame _yourself_ as well? As if you had any choice in the matter?" Fergus asked her in surprise, and it took his breath away. "Maker's breath, the world you live in is far too dark."

Nyla looked up at Fergus, unsure of how to handle or respond to the blow he dealt, she shook her head. _I'm not dark-_

"Nyla is not always so dark." Zevran spoke softly, having an intimate understanding of Nyla's sensitivity around her darkness. The siblings' heads whipped toward him. "She hurts deeply, sometimes." Nyla pointed at Zevran with a nod, and her weeping intensified with the relief of this simple acknowledgement. Zevran wanted to hold her, instead he looked toward Fergus. "When she weeps, she just needs someone to hold her, to help her reach the truth."

When Fergus and Nyla's attention snapped to each other once more, he could see the wisdom in the elf's words. Witnessing his little sister, lost and afraid, unlike any version of her he had ever seen; he _wanted_ to hold her.

Years of wondering what had happened that night, it was always about _'what happened to my family'_ and Fergus had put little consideration toward the impact on the the only one left; if he wanted to know so badly what happened, he could just look at her and have a wider scope of the truth than he ever could have wanted.

That night had been a living nightmare. It marked the end of the little sister he knew and the beginning of the soldier that she had become. And through it all, the horror she had seen, she would still return to himand fight to protect him from the horrors while facing her own.

"Come here, pup." Fergus spoke softly, and they went toward each other with open arms. She wept in his embrace, her face pressed against the soft fabric of his pale-blue tunic.

"Fergus, what you are asking for won't give you what you want. Please stop insisting that I do this to you."

The truth of her words softened his heart, the burning urge to know melted away, and he rested his cheek on her head.

Zevran smiled. _Yes, now he gets it._

As the pressure of having to speak atrocities to one that need not hear them fell away, Nyla mumbled, "I don't truly blame you for what happened, you know."

"I'm glad, Pup." His shoulders relaxed and he squeezed her tighter. He looked up at Zevran to find him watching them curiously, sitting cross-legged on the small, round table surrounded by chairs. Fergus nodded his gratitude with a soft smile and allowed the man to sit where he preferred.

"Zevran, get off the table," Nyla chided gently. Stifling a chuckle, Zevran gave his lady what she wanted.

* * *

art by [@fleshwerks](http://fleshwerks.tumblr.com/)


	4. Prepare for Crows

“Let me.” Zevran whispered, reaching toward trembling fingers pulling on a buckle.

“No,” she whispered back, finding her struggle with a stubborn strap favorable to silence and the wailing ghosts of the dead.

He had asked for this, insisted they spend the night in Highever, and he could see his folly. After a generous meal with Fergus, Zevran felt too tired for travel, the first snow had begun to fall, and there was no longer a sunset to fuck off into. Settling down to watch her from his seat on a carpet by the hearth, Nyla stepped into her bath. She did not invite him, or accept his doting offers; his lover's heart had grown so cold, not even touch would sooth her.

“What is it like to be here, Nyla?” He offered gently, and she fumbled, dropping her soap. Wide eyes flicked up to gaze at him, her lips trembled almost imperceptibly.

“I don’t know.” Nyla sought out her soap and hastily scrubbed her legs. “I don’t know. I can’t tell. The quiet… I can’t hear myself in the silence. I can feel the...” her hand raised, thumb rubbing against four fingers. “Can’t you feel it?”

“No. I feel the warmth of the fire. I feel safe here behind stone walls, protected from the elements. Though, I have a preference for outside sounds.” He moved toward her, rolling up the sleeves of his tunic. “I am not having your experience. I am only a witness to it.”

“What do you see?” Nyla flinched, backing away subtly as he reached toward her.

“I see my love is on guard. Perhaps overwhelmed.” Kneeling next to the tub, he tilted his head at her, wishing she would accept his touch and gestures of affection. “Too aware.”

“Yes!” Nyla's eyes widened. “Yes. Too aware.”

Resting a hand on the edge of the tub, he looked into the darkness with her; what if he were in the place he killed Rinna? The sounds of her pleading for her life, expressing her love, the wet breath of her dying, the smell of her blood, glassy eyes staring up at him in disbelief... Shaking his head, Zevran shuddered to think of making a bed of her grave.

“I’m sorry, Nyla. I should not have insisted upon this.”

She nodded, her face scrunching in her efforts to repress tears. “Zevran, I shouldn’t be here.” With a tearful chuckle she added, “Now I’m sitting here all fucked up in a hot bath.”

“Si!” Zevran chuckled with her, feeling her warming toward him. It amazed him, as always, how it changed everything for her, just to be _seen._

Taking the soap from her fist, he crouched behind her, resting an elbow on the edge of tub. Soaping his hands, he reached around her, placing a hand over her heart. “I have you,” he crooned, feeling the heart of his love beating hard beneath his palm. Affectionate gestures, when she desperately needed them, often made her cry when she finally accepted them.

“There’s a din within the silence,” she whispered to her lover, the ghostly apparition amidst the cacophony in her mind. “Like the screams of the dying.”

“I have you,” he whispered, running a slow and gentle palm along her throat.

“I don’t mean to be so dark.”

“Have you ever known Zevran to be averse to your darkness, mi amor?” Working his thumbs at the base of her neck, she did not relax beneath his touch, so he hummed for her to drown out her darkness. Her head tipped forward with a relieved sigh, her shoulders relaxed.

As he soaped her hair, massaged her scalp in circular motions with his fingertips, humming became a gentle song; an Antivan love song that used to confound and annoy him with its foolishness. Guiding her to lay back in the water, her dark hair splayed out, floating around her. With a hand resting on the back of her head, he held her afloat, combing his fingers through her locks, rinsing it of any soapy residue. Slow, soothing gestures. Nyla reached out a wet hand and he leaned into her touch with a smile, kissing her palm and resuming his soft song.

 

*******

 

It had been a restless night in Highever; Zevran’s offers of pleasures and massage went declined. Despite the comfort of a hot bath, a downy mattress and her lover’s arms, Nyla tossed and turned, startling to wakefulness with whispered fears. _‘Did you hear that?’_ With strong arms and gentle hands he reassured her, _‘I hear only silence, amor. I have you.’_

Sleep, often broken and unsettling at the best of times, felt easier when Nyla drifted off to nighttime sounds. Waking throughout the night to a canopy of stars overhead and the golden hair of her lover illuminated by firelight; hard ground preferable to a soft bed in the silence of a still room with stone walls.

“Nice earring, sis.” Fergus teased, knowing its origin, having seen the jeweled hoop on the elf before. Handing off the last of Nyla’s packs to her he continued, “Did you lose the other?”

“No.” Nyla chuckled. “Let’s just say Zevran takes comfort in having his most prized possessions all in one place.”

“Oh.” Zevran paused for thought. His forehead wrinkled, and he tilted his head at her. “Nyla. Always knowing more about me than I do and sharing at most inappropriate times.”

“I don’t _always_ share at inappropriate times.” Nyla narrowed her eyes at him.

“That is not what I said.”

“Where will you go?” Fergus smiled with a silent chuckle. Their mini-spats could be quite cute, however, he didn’t feel like sitting through another one of them.

“Oh, you meant always _knowing_ more...” Nyla spoke quietly to herself.

“We are beginning a journey,” Zevran began.

“To do some Grey Warden business.” Nyla spoke quickly, affixing the last of her belongings to her mount. “Come on, darling.”

“Nyla, big brother is an ally.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Does our secrecy have a purpose?”

“Trust me on this one. Let’s keep it secret.”

“I disagree.” He folded his arms across his chest. "Wholeheartedly."

Nyla sighed deeply with hands on her hips and met his eyes; he seemed to be rather passionate about about it. Nodding and gesturing toward Fergus with an open palm, she conceded to his desire. “Alright, darling.”

“We are going to find a cure for Nyla’s Calling. Our first destination is Nevarra, where we will see an old friend, and see what we will find.” With a pointed glance he spoke, “See? Not so hard.”

Fergus furrowed his brow at him, “Forgive my ignorance... what’s a Calling?”

“Oh.” Zevran cringed as Nyla bit her lip to stifle laughter. “Shit.”

“See?” Nyla sighed.

“Zevran did not think this through.”

“I know. It's alright.” Nyla spoke gently.

“Big brother _is_ an ally,” he defended weakly.

“And now what?” she smirked at him.

“And now we must tell him what a Calling is?”

 _“No!”_ Nyla cackled and snorted, batting at him playfully. “Now we leave him more confused than before you started sharing our business!”

“Fuck.” Zevran grimaced and shook his head. “Regretfully, we cannot give you the details of our purpose. Your Pup is never going to let me live this one down.”

“He’s right. I’m really not.” She spoke to Fergus. “I will remind him of this every time he insists-”

“We get it, amor. This is far too satisfying for you.” Zevran palmed his face, wishing she would just _stop_ using her serious voice to make jokes; so stressful.

“You’re both mad.” Fergus laughed. He would miss having them around. They were warm, loving, bringing levity when needed, and willing to be serious when it mattered. As he pulled them both into a hug he spoke, “Keep taking good care of each other, alright?”

“We will,” Zevran replied with a smile as Nyla turned away and mounted her horse. “Goodbyes upset Nyla, especially when extended, so I usually do them for us and get dragged off-”

“Come on, Zev.” Nyla rolled her eyes. “You’re delaying our departure by talking about my aversion to delayed departures. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Alright then, get out,” Fergus spoke playfully, sparing her the discomfort. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Nyla. “This is for later.”

“Bye Fergus.” Nyla tucked it in her pack and urged her mount forward, Zevran following close behind.

“Love you, Pup.” He watched them for a time, barely hearing their voices in the distance, chattering in Antivan. Nyla extended a hand to Zevran, and he took it. Envious of their closeness, how together and affectionate, he craved it; for the first time since losing his wife, Fergus enjoyed imagining courting another woman.

“Nyla, why do you oppose so strongly when I sit on tables?” Zevran asked, mounts walking steadily on the thin crust of snow as they departed Castle Cousland.

“Hmm.” She took his question seriously, even though the answer occurred as obvious. “It’s improper, impolite. Why do you sit on tables?”

“I like to sit on high places, and I do not imagine people would take kindly to my climbing their bookcases. I suppose, I like having a wider field of view.”

“So you feel _safer_ when you sit on tables?”

After a few moments of thought, he smiled. “Essentially.”  

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nyla reached for his hand, and he reached back, clasping her fingers.

“I had not anticipated our spending the night would hurt, amor.” Pausing for thought, his thumb idly stroked the back of her gloved hand. “Perhaps you should not trust me as much as you do.”

“I don’t expect you to be perfect, Zevran, but when you insist something _that_ hard, I will always trust you.”

“A bold move, mi amor,” he smiled.

 

*******

  
One place at a time, Ferelden had become a trail of horrid memories. Love for her homeland had driven her to greatness in order to see it saved, and now it could no longer be her home; the thought brought her grief and shame, given they called her Hero.

“Do we really have to go back to Wynne, Zev?” Nyla spoke after they ate, washed up and settled into their camp. With ample distance between themselves and the Wardens, Highever, and the biting cold which made her lover shiver, Nyla’s heart could finally relax.

“Yes. Wynne is good. She would like helping us. She could point us in the right direction,” Zevran nodded, and Nyla fell silent, staring pensively into the fire. “Tell me what hurts, Nyla? You are thinking so much and speaking so little.”

She sat closer to him, near enough to feel the warmth of his arm against hers. “I don’t want to return to Ferelden. I want to remain far away from it. The Hero wants to retire somewhere warm with her lover.”

“This makes sense to me, amor. You were not bred for war, and you have seen too much.”

“The war wasn’t what got to me, Zevran.” Her voice trailed off, her mind wandering to the intensity of the blight, and how well she seemed to simply have her shit together. “It was the aftermath that… did something. What were you saying?”

“First we will see Wynne, then all of the following weird shit that comes with finding the cure, then retire somewhere warm. Bare in mind, Nyla feels a lot darker when her moon approaches.”

“Yes. Tomorrow is when your dry spell begins. I am aware.” Nyla rolled her eyes and rested her forehead on his shoulder with a chuckle. “You will survive.”

“Barely.” He playfully nudged her with his shoulder, “Zevran cannot survive on only your eager mouth, Nyla.”

“Well, aren’t you funny.” Nyla leaned close to him and nibbled his jaw.

“May I address a concern, amor?” Zevran began, and Nyla looked up at him inquisitively. “I have been thinking.” The fire cast a warm glow on the contours of his Warden’s lovely face, her dark eyes on him; as always, his heart swelled as she stared at him so intently.

“What have you been thinking?” She spoke patiently.

“Amor, why are your feet always on me?” He chuckled, her toes continued to curl idly against the top of his bare foot.

She shrugged with a deep, satisfied sigh, her attention on the sensation making it even more delightful. “I like it.”

“Te amo, I got distracted. We have not sparred in several years, I imagine you have improved, no?”

“I have improved. I suspect we would be an even match, with odds slightly in your favor. Why?”

“I feel some concern that we may run into some Crows in the near future.”

“Why?”

“A hunch,” he shrugged. “Will you spar with me? Show me what you know? Perhaps even let me teach you a few things, if I may?”

“I am not particularly in the mood for an elaborate lesson, my love, but if it would offer you peace of mind, I am willing to spar.”

“It would, amor. Very much.” He sighed, standing to retrieve his weapons. “Come then!”

Nyla followed suit. “We’re using our blades?”

“What else with, Nyla? We have no practice weapons.”

“I don’t know, I was thinking sticks or something so we don’t… stop looking at me like that.” She chuckled, took her stance, weapons at the ready. “All right, then.”

“Ooh, very nice. You look sturdy, but quit smiling at me, you look too cute. Show me a fight face.”

“A fight face? You mean, as if I were under actual duress?” Nyla chuckled at him, and he lunged at her, surprising her. Their weapons clinked together, pushing against each other where they stayed. His blow had landed with force, hurting her and igniting sparks of anger.

“Now your face is too stoic. Fight face. Intimidate me.” 

“You’re telling me to practice being scary,” she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Crows are not like darkspawn. They are not mindless, they will be watching you, assessing you for skill and intent. Look… _fierce._ ” He glowered at her, predatory, his eyes gleaming catlike in the light of their campfire.

Tilting her head at him, their weapons still crossed, he withdrew, then came at her with vigor, landing several blows, forcing her into a defensive posture. Blow for blow she met his daggers with her own; she wondered if he would really have cut her if she wasn’t so on top of her game.

“This is too much.” Nyla tried to surrender, but he came at her again, eyes cold; he utilized his ‘fight face’ to intimidate her, but it was too easy, unfair, too much like her nightmares.

“More offensive. This is not how you would fight a Crow.” Her face remained expressionless with occasional glimpses of what may have been confusion. “Nyla, pretend Zevran is a Crow, and come at me.”

So she did, and her style differed from his. Zevran's strength outmatched hers, but her speed was nothing to scoff at, and her agility impressive. Still, he parried, blocked and evaded everything she threw at him.

“Is this the best the Hero can pull off? Feeble twirling and low blows?” Zevran panted, sweat beading on his temples.

“Oh, you.” She panted, rolling her eyes; it had started to get a little fun when she started moving. Body warm and limbs loosening. “You should know better than to believe jeering and petty insults would get a rise out of me. I mean, I _do_ see what is actually happening. My twirls _aren’t_ feeble, and you,” she pointed with a dagger and a wide smile, “are getting tired.”

“True,” he chuckled. “I do not know what it takes to get a rise out of stoic Nyla in combat. I am trying.”

“Try compromising the safety of my love,” she jested, and he surprised her with a swift and painless slice across her chest. “You… you cut my shirt.” Horrifying, though it was possibly meant to be cute, she couldn’t tell past his hard stare. “Love, I don’t like-”

“I still haven’t seen a decent fight face.” He glowered, determined to get a broader vision of what he could expect from her.

“I can’t simply fake a fight face, like some of us can,” Nyla insisted, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Zevran is not pretending.”

“What?” A shock to her system, and her daggers almost slipped from her fingers.

He dashed at her, letting her block a few of his jabs, a few slices, and switched it up, disarming her, one dagger flying from her hand.

“Nyla,” he growled, frustrated with how she simply refused to take this seriously. Did she not understand _Crows?_ Fucking _Crows_ could come for them, at any time, anywhere, _some_ preparation was necessary! She had to learn. He had to show her and sometimes she just needed a little extra push.

Swift movements Nyla could barely keep up with, she blocked one of his daggers with her own, and spun out of the way of what could have been a lethal jab. He circled her with brandished daggers, stalking her, very suddenly striking, disarming her.

Abandoning one of his weapons to get a hard grasp on her hand, he folded her arm, curling it uncomfortably against her back. Standing behind her, a dagger hovered near her throat.

“Let go of me, Zevran.” She demanded. “Enough of this game.” _Is it a game?_

“Find a way out.” Voice hard, he pressed deliberately on her arm, making her hiss in discomfort. “Nyla has agility, speed, fucking use it.”

“You're asking me to _hurt_ you- _"_ He bent her arm to the point of pain, igniting anger, prompting her to react.

One arm shot up, grabbing his wrist on a pressure point, disarming him. Burning pain in her shoulder, pressure in her elbow, there was only one way to free herself and he wasn’t going to like it. One twist of her body, and she was standing next to him, both of his arms bent uncomfortably and he hissed when she applied the slightest pressure. He looked over at her. 

“There is Nyla’s fight face!” Zevran celebrated her face contorted into a sneer, eyes angry and teeth bared. She let him go with a disgusted push away from her, and he stumbled forward. “That is a perfect fight face, amor. Intimidating, passionate, so much anger! I felt the ease with which you could actually break both of my arms with one motion! Beautiful! Show me again.”

Nyla moved away from him in wide strides, near tears. A few wide paces away from him she turned around to meet his befuddled stare. “No. Absolutely not. What the fuck are you _doing_?”

“Nyla?” He spoke softly, his eyes shone with concern and compassion at hearing her wavering voice. _Did I just make her cry?_

“I can count how many allies I have, Zevran, on one finger.” Tears slid down her cheeks despite herself; Nyla didn’t want to shed tears in her anger. “Is it too much to ask that there be _one person_ in the world that I _don’t_ have to fight off?”

“Amor.” He spoke quietly. “I need to make sure you are going to be able-”

“I _told_ you I am able. I should not have to _prove_ it to you! You aren’t my father, you do _not_ get to impose lessons upon me against my will. You are my partner, and I do _not_ need to appease you. How _dare_ you, Zevran.”

 _Oh… shit,_ he thought as he went toward her and she backed away. Her cheeks wet with tears, she pressed her thumb and forefinger on her temples for a sniffle and a bout of silent weeping. Betrayal and sadness shone in her eyes when she looked up at him, and he felt like a complete asshole. _But I meant well…_

“And to see you come to me with so much love after you had just _hurt_ me. You wanted _so badly_ to be taken seriously, I fucking _heard_ you. I needed to stop. What does it take for you to hear me? When I’m standing here pushed far beyond my limits and weeping like a child? _”_

“I pushed you, yes, but you often times thrive beneath pressure. I had no idea it would hurt you like this. How could I?” This seemed to relax her, but Nyla remained far from him, her arms folded protectively across her chest. “What hurts, amor?”

“The very real fear that I will lose you to the Crows one way or another.”

“Nyla.” He cocked his head at her, quirking an eyebrow, “you will not.” She only glowered at him and swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand; this was exceptionally odd. “I have been much more rough with you in the past, Nyla, and you did not hurt like this.” He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. _Fool Zevran, fucking with her when she is on the cusp of her moon._

“No. You had never looked at me with such ire. Not in the waking world.”

He moved closer to her, relieved she didn’t move away. “This is a common dream for you, mi amor?”

“Yes. They come for you. They make an offer you can’t refuse. You choose them.”

“Then we brawl?” Zevran steadily approached her.

“You kill me.” Nyla’s heart ached as she swiped another tear from her cheek.

“Without brawl?” He spoke softly, as understanding seeped in.

“Porque quiero que lo hagas.” _Because I want you to,_ she spoke, her sad gaze on him, longing in her smile _._ “I don’t mean to be so dark.”

“Te amo.” Zevran wrapped his arms around her; sometimes, when things became too dark, it just made sense to stop everything and let it go. “I am sorry you hurt. This was not my aim. You do know that there are no conditions under which I could be compelled to go back to the Crows, no?”

“No, Zev. Once you believe something isn't possible, that is when you become vulnerable.”

“You do not seem to be less vulnerable when you imagine losing me to the Crows. Especially if you would give up life the moment it happened.” Imagining what it had been like, when she ran to the Deep Roads, he _had_ been so brittle, losing his will to live. If he had believed what she had done was possible, he may have reacted differently.

“True. Even now, thinking about it, I have no vision past being by your side.” Nyla spoke sadly, pulling him closer. “All I want is one ally. One person to bond to, to trust, that I can see and focus on, to protect. Without that, I see no purpose to living.”

“The darkest Nyla approaches,” Zevran teased, kissing her wet cheeks. “And this time, I do not wholeheartedly disagree.”

“Not wholeheartedly.” She looked up at him and cocked her head, “What does that mean?”

“While I cannot foresee myself doing any better upon losing you, if I died I would want you to live. I want you to know this.”

“What happened when I went into the Deep Roads?”

“I imagined if you weren’t already killed by the cave-in, your death would have been slow and painful… inevitable. It felt like the most vital part of me died with you. It seemed to take a great deal of effort to remain breathing.”

“Yes.” She met his eyes, earnest and serious, “Don’t expect me to promise things you can’t.” In trying to make her point, her mind spun into dark places of remorse and longing.

“Stop that.” Zevran chuckled, seeing her face fall, horror flickering across her gaze. “We have been over this.”

“You don’t know-”

“I see it right there, Nyla, you’re doing it again. Wallowing in your dark places.”

“Fuck.” Nyla had to laugh. “Alright. The only rational outcome to all of this-”

“Sex?” Smiling, nudging her nose gently with his, Zevran felt lighter in hearing her laugh. “Debt fulfillment? I am sure someone owes someone something right now, no?”

“Yes.”


	5. Here They Come

“This _heat_ is…” Nyla sighed with a quick flourish of her hand in the air.  “Have you noticed the heat?”

“A lot of heat, amor. Not unbearable, if I might add.” Zevran acknowledged her signals, meeting her gaze with a quick nod, and then pointed his eyes forward. “Only half a day until we arrive, amor.”

“I saw the map,” she spoke with a roll of her eyes. “It’s _far_ more than half a day.”

“Snippy, Nyla?”

 _“You’re_ snippy.”  
  
“Zevran is becoming snippy due to provocation.”

“So it’s my fault?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Si.” He pouted.

“Oh.” With a spark of frustration, Nyla chuckled; the game she had been playing turned into something real, and the humor was not lost on her. “Te amo. Let’s retrieve our map and verify then, hmm? We’ll make a bet. If it’s half a day or less, you get to have your way with me. If it’s more, then I get to be on top.”

“Mmm. Prepare to be taken against a tree, amor.” Zevran smirked at her, and they dismounted, quickly tethering their horses. Pulling her close, his lips touched hers and he spoke with an urgent, breathy whisper, “Crows surrounding us.”

“Is that so?” she whispered, kissing him, brushing her gloved fingertips along his jaw. In sensing his nervousness, she attempted to sooth him with a confident jest. “I do love a target rich environment.”

Zevran returned her kiss with vigor and stroked her cheek, softness and urgency in his gaze. “I love you. Please, do not get hurt. Run if you must, meet me where I found you.”

“Oh, you.” She crooned, making the first move to begin the battle; she stepped back, reached over her head, unsheathing her oversized daggers. “Te amo.”

A poorly aimed arrow hit a tree, and Zevran saw red. Someone shot near his woman, _near,_ for some reason. Snarling, he stalked toward its source, daggers in hand. Nyla took a moment to watch him with wide eyes in sheer arousal; his fight face was actually quite nice to look at when he aimed it anywhere but her, and Zevran certainly knew how to stalk with clear intent.

“Come out, little birds,” she taunted smoothly. Faces hard, they casually sauntered from the brush armed and ready. “Only three of you?” A fourth dropped from the tree behind her. “Getting there.”

Nyla took her stance, and tried on the ‘fight face’ which had impressed Zevran. Her first target, the Crow who flinched; the distinction between fighting darkspawn and man unfolded. Darting toward him, she cut him down with ease; a quick, heavy-handed slash across the throat. With an alarming sense of being unchallenged, she ducked low to the ground with a spin and twisted her blade in the gut of another.

Her next target had calibrated to defend more efficiently, and in her periphery, two more approached with defensive stances. Their lack of aggression remained confusing, their attention apparently on something other than her demise. _Trying to wear out a Warden?_

Zevran had pursued the archer as per his usual strategy; always take down the rangers first. After a quick kill, the distinct sound of flapping wings caught his attention. With the slain archer’s bow, he shot the bird down as a precaution.

With a brief sprint, Zevran leaped high, grabbing onto a strong tree limb to haul himself up for a better view. Surveying the area he initially saw no one, and with little sound he made his way through the trees, on the prowl. He could hear Nyla fighting in the distance, and he made his way toward her.

Discovering a cloaked figure hidden in a tree, Zevran leaped upon him, making quick work of spilling his blood, dragging a blade across his throat. What was left of the man landed on the ground with a dull thud. Despite his strong desire to reach Nyla, he had to take them all down; he had to trust her to hold her own as he systematically swept through her periphery, slaughtering anyone in his path.

Moving again through the trees, he saw his love in the distance, surrounded and holding her own. No time to watch her, he found several others. Evenly dispersed around them, this was not their typical strategy; something was amiss. Zevran had to find them and eradicate them all. He couldn’t leave her alone; he moved faster. 

Nyla’s eyes never left the three surrounding her. They fended her off, occasionally making a half-hearted attempt to strike her. It was as if they were distracting her, or trapping her; warily, she kept her stare hard. The urgency to locate Zevran intensified, imagining they were trying to distract her to keep them separated.

A coordinated attack; all three dashed toward her. Responding in turn, Nyla deflected and dodged swift strikes with skilled precision. The Crows certainly had a skill for fucking with a person, of this she could be certain. A strike through her glove left a deep gash on the back of her hand, and with a hiss she held tighter to her weapon.

Nyla’s vision wavered, she squinted, blinking rapidly at them in an attempt to clear her eyes. _Poison._ A jolt of fear quivered through her as she realized their intent; they wanted her alive.

“Zev!” She called out weakly, but her mouth rebelled, daggers became heavy, legs became weak. Using their assumption of her weakened state as strategy, she wavered on her feet and staggered to her hands and knees, gripping her daggers firmly.

“Grab her. We leave while he is still occupied.” A feminine voice spoke in Antivan.

They closed in on Nyla, and the moment the opportunity arose, she swung with a strained grunt, plunging her dagger under the chin of the nearest target. Her dagger stuck through the top of the man’s skull, she hadn’t the strength to take it back. Stumbling, sweating, vision blurred, she stood to face the others. Anger sparked within her, refusing to succumb to their poison before putting up a fight.  

“Ah. The Black Shadow’s lover is very good. Resilient. Clever. _Almost_ untouchable. She could make a good Crow, no?”

Eerie, to hear this bitch with the same accent and manner of speech as her love. Two more approached; _that makes… four or… three?_ Inwardly raging, her vision doubled, her mouth contorting in an attempt to speak. _Fuck you, I’m not going anywhere!_ Two more arrived. _Okay, maybe this many could take me right now._

A blade grazed her cheek and she lunged at the offender with an overhead strike, sinking her blade into his chest, the heel of her opposite hand slamming the pommel and driving it into his heart. _Fuck you, fucking scarring my fucking face I have gone THIS LONG… and here I am fretting about my face when everything is fucked._

Frustration beneath the surface, expression muted, body growing feeble, Nyla fell to her knees. Far too hot, nausea intensified, unsure if they poisoned her with something new, or just dosed her with more of the first. Her head whipped around in hopes she would see Zevran.

A sizable man lumbered toward her and picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder. _Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck this. FUCK!_ Powerless; unable to cry out, unable to fight, her head and arms rebounded off of her captor’s back as he ran hard. In the distance she heard Zevran cry out; a call of her name, a feral roar that pulled at her heart and put her at ease, knowing he still lived.

 _“Nyla!”_ He called out to her again, circling where he had last seen her fighting. Stomach churning, he felt as though he would be sick. Lover gone, five corpses left behind, her weapons left behind, her mount still tethered; there were no adequate words or sounds to express his fury and fear. He called for her again. Keen eyes surveyed the field, and droplets of blood on dried leaves caught his attention; a trail perhaps. At least a direction to run.

Senses heightened with urgency and anger, he pursued at a sprint. They were moving fast, leaving droplets of warm blood in their wake. Was this his Nyla’s blood?

With a running jump, Zevran grasped a branch, hoisting himself into a tree; a means to gain ground on them as he leaped from limb to limb. He didn’t care if they heard him coming. He wanted them to hear him coming; wanted them to hear their death approaching. They moved swiftly below him, his Nyla slung over the shoulder of one, four surrounded as they ran. Zevran dove to the ground landing on his hands, rolling, stopping with his feet on the ground. He crouched, glowering up at the dead man trying to carry his love away from him.

“Mía.” _Mine._ Zevran growled and gutted the man with a plunge and a quick twist of his blade. His target fell, sending Nyla tumbling away to rest on her side. Bleary, bloodshot eyes stared at nothing and she shook as if freezing. “Nyla, say something.” His heart quivered painfully within his chest and his mind spun, he knew of no poison what could do that to her.

 _I can’t feel anything, amor,_ Nyla thought, wishing she could speak. With rapidly building absurdity within her trembling form, she watched Zevran as Crow battled Crow. Faster, stronger, his skill far exceeded theirs as he killed them systematically with weapons and fists; they couldn’t even touch him.

With only the woman remaining, cocky, sneering at him, she dared him to come for her. The fight lasted a mere four seconds before he had her compromised, a dagger at her throat and her arm twisted behind her back. Nyla wanted to laugh, but she vomited instead, her body curling in on itself and shaking with heat.

“What have you done to her?” Zevran demanded, pressing his dagger to her neck.

She laughed breathlessly. “Watch your _lover_ suffer and figure it out, you weak shit.”

“Where were you taking her? Why?” Teeth bared, his heart twisted in his chest as he watched his love lay motionless on the grass. “Answer me.” He bent the yellow haired woman’s  arm almost to the point of breaking, eliciting minimal response. “Who sent you?”

“The House of Crows wishes to see your end, _Black Shadow,_ ” she spat, speaking his name with scorn. “Traitorous whoreson.”

“If the next words out of your mouth spare her of further pain, I will let you live.”

“Go fuck-” is all she managed before he cut her throat and tossed her useless carcass aside; she wasn’t going to talk, and he had no time for her shit.

“Amor?” Zevran knelt by her. _Sweating, shaking, eyes red, vomiting, what is this? Snake venom? Plant toxin? Both?_ Scooping her into his arms, he jogged toward where they left their horses, keeping eyes and ears open for any remaining Crows.

“I have you.” He spoke softly as he laid her on the ground near where their horses remained tethered. Uncorking a vial of elfroot, he held her head and poured it down her throat. “I have you,” he whispered, pressing a hand to her neck to feel her heart beating hard. “Do not be afraid. This will not kill you, or it already would have. They wanted you alive, amor. I wish I knew if you could hear me.”

If Nyla had the faculties required to allow herself to weep, she would have. He had found her, he took care of her, told her exactly what she needed to hear; this _had_ to stop happening. Zevran had tried to tell her, to teach her, and like a fool she had pushed him away, scolding him for his efforts.

Whispering soothing words, he examined her. A shallow cut across the smooth skin of her cheek, a blood soaked glove with a deep and aggravated injury beneath. Peeling the wet glove from her skin, Zevran hastily applied a poultice to draw out poison and bandaged it.

Having no choice but to put distance between themselves and the dead, Zevran deeply missed his partner who only trembled and jerked in his arms as he carried her on horseback to safety.

 _‘The House of Crows wishes to see your end,’_ the woman had said, and Zevran understood her meaning: total war. Having spent years systematically killing every Crow in his path, it was about time the war became explicit.

The mission of taking down the House of Crows had nearly lost its appeal after he found Nyla, and completely lost its appeal as their love unfolded. Zevran’s dream to disappear with his love and show her some semblance of peace, see her live long enough to grow old alongside him, became seemingly impossible; though nothing would ever stop him from trying.

The cruelty of Crows remained unmatched; purchasing and torturing children, creating more murderers than they needed, having far more power than they knew how to appropriately utilize. How they still had the people, the _resources,_ willing to go on the same suicide mission over and over, baffled him. 

Running from Crows and finding a cure did not occur as a viable option; not if they were to be hunted for the rest of their days, looking over their shoulders. Whether or not they sought the cure, or took on the Crows, was not a decision he could make on his own.

With comfortable distance from the carnage, he didn’t set up camp, only found a hidden place and sat against a tree to hold his lover close.

Nyla laid numb in his arms and he rocked her gently, stroking her hair with a trembling hand. _I’m right here..._ she wanted to comfort him, to let him know everything was going to be okay. All that mattered was they were together; the alternative, being slung over the shoulder of a Crow and carried away. All things considered, Nyla thought herself to be faring quite well.

“Te amo. I have you. I am sad to see you suffer, mi amore.” Zevran pressed his lips to her forehead where he stayed for several moments. She could feel his lips trembling, the subtle tickle of his tears falling on her skin. Regaining sensation, her extremities tingled with a subtle burn. Sitting up, Zevran readjusted her in his arms, cradling her, repositioning her leg which he had carelessly let lie at an awkward angle. He swiped the dampness from his cheeks with a loud sniffle.

“Your eyes are moving.” He cringed, weeping for a moment with the relief of having her back to any degree. “You blinked. Blink if you can hear me.” She blinked her bloodshot, bleary eyes, and he pressed a gentle hand to her cheek. “I am missing you.” His thumb caressed her lower lip. “Since you cannot speak right now, I will have to speak for you. You will say the most perfect things.” After a long pause and a longing gaze he whispered, “That would have made you laugh.”

Tears came despite his efforts to put on a strong front for her, and he wondered why he imagined he could fool her. He smiled weakly and met her eyes.

“This hurts, amor. I am missing you. I feel remorse for keeping truths from you. I need to tell you what I should have done months ago. Story of Nyla’s life, no? Important men in her life always offering too little, too late? You would scold me gently for that. I would love to hear you scold me right now. Your scolding feels like love. It is... soothing. Crows never get a gentle scolding.”

Seeing him by moonlight after nearly losing him was beauty enough to bring her to tears, but to hear him speak so earnestly, to feel his heart, she felt as close to him as she ever had. She felt no anger toward him, only wanted him to keep speaking, to tell her the truths he had withheld, and when he asked her to blink her consent to begin his tale, she did.

“Months ago back at our little haven, we were drinking and I told you I had been killing Crows. You asked me to tell you the story, we made love instead. It is… a very fond memory for me, the first time I took you with my mouth.” He chuckled at himself and stroked her unmarred cheek. “After the blight, the Crows still pursued you, unwilling to let go of the contract on you until the Queen herself told them to stop. As the only kin to the man who ordered this contract, burden of responsibility fell to her. She claimed she did not know about this contract, I was not inclined to believe her.” He snuggled Nyla close against him, reclining more comfortably against the contours of the tree, her head resting in the crook of his arm to face him.

“Now, here is where things are very bizarre. Zevran had been tracking the Crows tracking Nyla. I killed them, always two steps behind you. I did this for over a year. Your forehead is scrunching right now, moving is good! Perhaps also bad. You do that with your forehead when you become frustrated.” He chuckled again, kissing her forehead, petting her braided hair.

“Anora said she would see what she could do, and as you know, she had proven to be unreliable in the past. That, and I could not fathom one request could fix everything. It seemed too easy. So I travelled to Antiva. I was going to take on the matter personally, as I had by then lost any sign of Crows, or you. I feared you might be dead before I had stumbled upon you at the inn. I found several Crows traveling together, among them was a boy, I am guessing around thirteen years of age. After letting him watch the others die, I did my typical questioning, he was eager to live, not yet broken. He informed me the contract is indeed still in place; this could be for several reasons, not necessarily because your Ferelden queen is full of shit. You are very pretty. Eres preciosa." _You’re beautiful._ Tucking strands of hair behind her ear, so grateful to be looking at her, holding her, Zevran wondered desperately what she thought as her big, dark eyes searched his face.

“And now, here is where things get worse for Zevran. I believe the boy I released went back to his Master and told him the Black Shadow, as they had begun to call me, is Zevran of house Arainai. Tattoos on the face, you see, makes one easy to identify. Their tempers reignited, they have been pursuing us both ever since. I do not know how many I must kill before they realize their folly. I had gone back to Ferelden to find you, and stumbled upon you in Orlais as I was returning to Antiva. For far more reasons than preserving our lives, I intended to take down the House of Crows, which as you may or may not know, is the sum of every house-”

“Bwut the puck, Deb!” Nyla blurted finally, chuckling and snorting at herself, lips and tongue mostly numb. The intensity of his tale slipped from her mind as she grappled with the sound of her own voice, and the excitement of being able to speak again. “Chit. Ah, puck.”

“Mmm… such sweet sounds from my sweet woman.” He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “You may try to speak more if you wish, but it will likely only serve to entertain me.” Several unintelligible sounds came from her, Zevran laughed hard, kissing her nose over and over.

With a moaned sigh, Nyla gave up. “Ah. Puck it.”

“No no, you are doing so well!” He brushed her nose with his. “You are making more sense than normal!”

Nyla cackled, tried to bring more levity, as she knew it brought him comfort, “Bake lub to me, Debnan.”

He furrowed his brow as he tried to decipher her words, and understanding creeped in. _“Ugh! Nyla! Stop this!”_ He laughed hard, “Say _anything_ else!”

She babbled and slurred suggestive activities at great length with a playful and sultry tone, interrupting herself with giggles and snorts, face scrunching with her smiles. Making him laugh was one of her favorite things, even if she couldn’t grasp precisely what was funny; if it made him laugh, she kept doing it.

“Nyla!” Chortling and shaking, he shifted, laying on the ground with her, pulling her leg over his hip. Burying his face in her neck, so grateful he still had her. She was playing with him, soothing him, and his body shook briefly with tapering laughter and relieved tears. “Damn, I missed you, amor. You were here, but you were not here.”

“Ohhh…” Nyla made a soft, sympathetic sound, as she hadn’t much else to offer. She tried hard to move her arm and could manage only a slight wiggle.

“Te amo.” Zevran sniffled and pulled himself together. “I am going to make a suggestion for us right now, and I want you to tell me yes or no. Given the circumstances, I suggest going to the inn at Val Chevin, to rest instead of going directly to Wynne.”

“No. Need heal… my pape. Pafe. _Keek!_ Puck me.” Nyla sighed.

“The cut on your face is superficial, amor. It may not even scar, and your priorities are off.”

Despite his being absolutely correct, Nyla moaned and wished she could argue. _Dammit Zevran, I happen to really enjoy being fucking pretty._

“Inn,” she spoke with a sigh.


	6. To Have the Hero

“Zev?” Nyla’s voice echoed through the dark and silent room.

“Still here, amor.” He whispered.

A confusing answer, given she had just woken up. “Where are you?” 

Zevran shifted a little, keeping his voice low. “Right here, Nyla. Behind you. Beneath you.” 

Nyla moved her arms, every joint complaining. Running both hands along Zevran’s legs clothed in soft leather, she gathered she laid between them, the back of her head resting on his belly. “Where are we?” A cool cloth rested over her aching eyes, and she twitched with a startled groan.

“Val Chevin, where I found you. It is nighttime. This is our second night here.” Telling her everything at once seemed easiest as she had been waking periodically with the same questions; he doubted she would retain anything this time either. Her hands held firm to his legs, just like every other time she woke. 

“What…” she swallowed, forgetting her words. Attempting to sit up, Zevran’s legs wrapped around her waist, ankles firmly locked, held her still. “Why  _ this?”  _

Eager at the prospect of having her lucid again, Nyla’s speech remained slow and disjointed, but she spoke more than she had in days. Lifting the cloth from her eyes, Zevran placed it back in the bowl to soak. “Hmm? What do you mean, amor?” Sitting up, he swept gentle fingers over her damp hair. 

“This?” Nyla patted his legs, struggling to stay awake. 

“You are resting as the poison leaves you.” His voice remained a near whisper while he held a cup of water to her lips, and for the first time she raised her hands to hold it on her own.

“Why does my resting warrant a leg-lock?” Nyla cleared her throat, more awake after a few long draws of water; Zevran took the cup and her head fall back with a sigh. Blinking in the darkness, she raised her curled hands to rub sore eyes and Zevran guided her to rest her arms by her sides. 

“They become more sore if you keep rubbing them.” He replaced the dampened cloth, cooled with fresh water, over her eyes again.

“Thank you,” Nyla whispered with a relieved sigh. Gentle fingers ran along her forehead and through her hair, relaxing, within the silent confines of their room. “Zev?”

“Still here, amor,” he spoke patiently, and Nyla understood why he had been acting so strangely.

“You okay?”

“I am overjoyed to hear you, amor. Don’t move.” With a relieved sigh, he stretched his stiff legs out. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“Laying in the grass, looking at the sky. Made you laugh.” An extended pause provoked her to ask, “What happened after?”

“You need more resting. Perhaps I tell you later,” he spoke with a somber tone, removing the cloth from her eyes. 

“You don’t have to hurt alone.” Nyla tried to sit up again, and her muscles locked in her efforts, making her call out and tremble as she curled in on herself.  _ “What is this?” _

“I am here. I have you.” Zevran soothed, wrapping his legs around her waist and pressing on her shoulders; laid flat on her back, the cramping subsided. 

“Thank you. What is this?” Nyla whispered after a harsh lesson of why he had her trapped with his legs. “What's wrong with me?”

“I believe they intended to keep you immobilized, to get you to Antiva. Giving you more poison would have kept you numb, giving you none would leave you suffering. Very thorough. They must fear you.”

“You don’t have a remedy for this?”

“Forgive me, amor. I am no longer a Crow, I do not get the privilege of knowing their advancements in such things.”

“Tell me what happened?” Nyla asked again, with a strong desire to feel closer to him, “You need not hurt alone.”

“No, amor. I am not alone, and I will not tell you right now.” Heart swelling with her care, Zevran sat up and cupped her face with his hands, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. Flashes of fear and panic ignited in his memory of eyes rolling back, desperate screams, body jerking uncontrollably, forcing two ineffective antidotes down her throat as he straddled her, held her down, and she thrashed.  _ Amor, please... look at me… I have you... I have you…  _

“I’m sorry.” Nyla raised her hands to scrub her eyes, again he caught them, resting them along her sides; a cool cloth soothed the burning ache. “Thank you,” she breathed out in relief.

“What are you sorry for, amor?”

“Not listening to you when you tried to help me learn to fight Crows.”

“Do not blame yourself.”

Voice quivering, she fought back tears. “I killed their friends, and they didn’t care.” 

“They were not friends.” Stroking her cold, sweat dampened cheeks, he pulled another blanket over her. “They were Crows.”

“You were once like that?”

“Yes.”  

“I don’t believe that, Zevran.” 

“Crows are conditioned to be hard. Feelings are weakness. If we disappointed our master, he would kill us. Rinna, Taliesin and I, we broke our molds, somehow having… care is the word that comes to mind. You, our friends, awakened this spark within me to its fullness.” He leaned down to press a kiss to her dry lips. “Especially you, Nyla.” 

Offering her more water, she took a few generous gulps. “Thank you. I love you. Will you show me again? Teach me to fight Crows?”

“Yes, though it seems you have acquired the notions I tried to share. I am sorry I did not tell you what I was doing, and why. I tried to teach you in ways similar to my training. Motivation through fear and anger. What happened that night between us was not only you. But next time it will be fun. We will make it fun.”

“Thank you. Te amo. Will you hold me?” Nyla asked softly.

“Best not to move, amor. I will stay right here with you for as long as it takes. I have you.” 

“Will you make this cool again?” 

Zevran responded immediately, rinsing and then resting the cloth over her eyes. “Do you remember what I told you about Crows?”

“Mm.” Nyla thought hard as she fought sleep. “They were not friends.”

“No, earlier. Much earlier. After we killed them and ran. We spoke beneath a tree.”

Nyla thought for several moments. Flashes of combat, fighting hard, killing many, falling to her knees, slung over a shoulder and whisked away, an anguished cry of her name, the shaking breath of her lover as he cradled her protectively beneath a tree,  _ blink if you can hear me _ … 

“Black Shadow,” Nyla whispered as his tale came back to her vividly. “Zevran, in trying to protect me, you became a target again.” Tears ran, despite her trying to withhold them. “Even as I pushed you away, you protected me.”

“Yes.” He whispered, quickly rewetting the cloth and nudging her hands from reaching toward her eyes. “I needed to see you safe.” 

“You loved me.” Nyla wept, aching to hold him. 

“Yes,” Zevran whispered, pushing her hands from rubbing her eyes again. “Loved you. Longed for you.” Grabbing her hands again from reaching her eyes, he held them by her sides and chuckled, “Stop weeping, Nyla. It is irritating your eyes.”  

“I love you.” Stroking his legs with her palms, feeling overwhelmed in imagining his devotion which matched her own. “So much.”

“Te amo. I know.” He gently caught her hands from rubbing her eyes. Her arms were weak, he could hear fatigue in her voice; she was falling asleep again.

“I have to do things right, Zevran. I can feel myself running out of miracles.”

“There are no miracles, amor, I have you.”  


 

*******   


 

Nyla startled awake. Running a hand over her head, hair still damp from a hot bath; a real bathtub, the only indoor luxury she ever truly missed. Stretching out with a deep sigh, a cramp hit her leg, and she cursed and whined, laying it straight until the pain subsided; relentless muscle cramping, the tapering result of poison within her. 

Wondering how her big brother fared, she imagined writing to him, dismissed it, unsure of what to say. Her eyes idly scanned the room and landed on her pack, reminding her of the packet he gave her a month ago. 

Nyla cautiously sat up, and nudged herself toward the edge of the bed, standing up with a satisfied sigh.  _ “Shit,”  _ she squealed, hitting the floor. With another bout of cursing and whimpering, her body trembled, curling in on itself. Lying flat on her back, she breathed deeply until the cramping subsided. 

“Maker’s breath, Crows are  _ assholes. _ ” She panted, rolling to her stomach, rising to her hands and knees and crawling across the floor in the hopes Zevran wouldn’t walk in. He would carry her around again.  _ I’m the Hero of Ferelden, I can crawl across the fucking floor BY MYSELF. _

Packet acquired and held between her teeth, she climbed back onto the bed, ready for another nap. Thick with parchment, she opened it slowly. Two sheets of paper and a ring slid out, landing on her lap. 

A hand raised to her mouth, and she nearly wept as she held their father’s ring, bearing the Cousland family crest. Heavy, meant to last, why did he give it to  _ her? _ she held it tightly in her fist and picked up the parchment.  


 

_ Nyla,  _

_ I’m glad you’re here right now. I know you will to want to leave in the morning, (or as soon as your elf allows you), so I am writing this as you rest. I heard him talking to you, how he brought you here to face your demons. I have deep respect for the man, he swore he would find you and write to me when he did. He kept his word. You both have my blessing... not that it would change anything if you didn’t, but there you have it.  _

_ Thank you for coming here. I know it was hard for you. While I have been doing quite well, getting the chance to speak (or fight) with you has given me a sense of peace I haven’t felt in years. I truly believed knowing what had happened that night would bring me peace. What little you shared in your frustration was quite enough.  _

_ I found father’s ring in the hidden safe in his room. I imagine he left it there for me to find one day after we reclaimed the castle. I wanted you to have it, something special from home to keep... or to give to whomever you please. I included a letter that I thought you would like to see. Love you pup, come back if you can stomach it, all right? _

_ -Fergus   
_

 

With a rich sigh, she felt a keen ache in her heart, wishing she had more to offer him, despite how she had been lost in her own horrors. Moving one parchment on top of the other, she read the second letter.  


 

_ I have her. It is good to see her again despite the deep sadness she bears. She appears lost, but the woman I once knew is still there. I only hope she will allow me close to her again, as we once were. Pardon my brevity, locations are best gone undisclosed. Just know she is safe now. I have her. _

_ -Z  
_

 

Folding the parchments and sliding them back in the envelope, she walked on unsteady legs to her pack and put it away, without incident. Using the bed as leverage, she made her way to a chair by the window and turned the ring in her fingers, staring with a broken heart at the Cousland family crest.  _ To keep or give to whomever you please.  _ Blinking away tears, Nyla held the ring in her fist.  _ I have her. _ Nyla Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, had stood on top of the world and laid waste to all that would oppose her, just to stand alone and broken in the end;  _ until you, Zevran Arainai, te amo.  _ She swept a tear from her cheek.

_ Amor. Te amo.  _ She was part of something now, with a sense of belonging; with Zevran. Cousland was an old tale of betrayal and war  _ why would I want this?  _ she wondered, sliding the heavy silver band onto her thumb. Staring out the window, she waited for her love to return.

Zevran walked in with a tray of food in his arms, his woman sitting by the window in one of his shirts and nothing else. Hair still wet from her bath, she looked beautiful, basking in the morning sun. 

“You left, Zev.” 

“I had a few orders of business, amor. You should be resting.” He placed the tray on the bed. “I took your armor to the smith, he will make one in similar dimensions. So you are not so easily recognized everywhere we travel.”

“I think we need to get moving.” Her eyes were on the street below. “Maybe get armor elsewhere.”

“What do you see?” He approached her and she motioned for him to stop. 

“Don’t.” She kept her hand up. “Zev, how do you identify a Crow? How did you know they were Crows surrounding us?”

“For me, it is easy. I trust no one and assume they are everywhere. If you look closely - if you are close enough to see such a thing, you are probably dead - there may be an emblem, like a feathered mask.”

“I want to keep moving.” Nyla stood weakly.

“Amor, Zevran does not run from Crows. He kills them without mercy. If they wish to come in here, they may. You are not ready for travel.” Walking to the window, he looked down briefly onto the street.    
  
“Kills without mercy… except that one time.” She teased with a smile. 

“He was a boy, not yet fifteen, Nyla. I have no desire to kill children.” 

“Te amo, Zevran. It is right and normal to not want to kill children.” Meeting his frustrated stare with compassion, he softened. “Love, I have traveled with worse injuries than this, but if you think we should stay...”  

Nodding to her, he held her hand, assisting her to the bed. “Yes, amor. Wait until you can walk with more ease and have your new armor.”

She sat, and he handed her a generous bowl of stewed meat with bread. Enough for four as her appetite seemed greater than normal. 

“Thank you.” She reached toward him, stroking his cheek with a loving hand, he met her with a soft smile and a nod. “You seem… strained. Are you alright, Zevran?” 

He reached out to her and brushed her exposed shoulder with his fingertips, “With you? Always.” 

They ate in silence; a sense of relief filled Zevran as she ate so hungrily and with her own hand. Weak, but lively, hungry, beautiful; how he loved her. When they were through, he placed their empty dishes outside the door. 

“Zevran? Is there something on your mind?” He nodded with a smile that touched his eyes.  _ So sweet,  _ she grinned at him, watching him melt under her attention. “So much thinking, so little talking.” 

“I have been thinking, yes. About our path. Where we must go.”   
  
“We should get the Crows off our backs and then continue our search for the cure.” 

He blinked at her and furrowed his brow. “Yes… I am inclined to agree with you. Though, we must cross through Nevarra to get to Antiva.”

“All right, you want to speak with Wynne first, and then head to Antiva?”

“Yes, that was also my thinking.” Tilting his head at her, he enjoyed her enthusiasm, but he wanted her to slow down and hear him.

“I suppose that is the most efficient way to do things.” Moving to her hands and knees, she crawled toward him, and straddled his lap. “So we go to the College of Magi, then to Ant-”

“Amor, I am wanting to say… suggest…  _ ask  _ you something,” he floundered, “will you let me?” Waiting until she nodded with a patient smile, he continued. “In Nevarra…” he paused and sighed, his eyes closed for a moment. “I want to marry.”

“Zevran…” She shook her head, baffled, her emphatic yes clouded by concerns and questions. “Do they have a Chantry? I know little of Nevarra.”

“Chantry?” Forehead wrinkled, trying to pull his thoughts together, Zevran had just asked her to marry him, and this was not the anticipated response. “Oh! Yes but no, not Chantry. Handfasting.” 

“Handfasting?” She settled on his lap more comfortably, his arms wrapped around her and pulled her close against him. “Will you tell me about it?”

“It is a ritual, very sacred, very spiritual in nature. During this ritual, you drink tea and speak vows to each other. As you are speaking, hands are clasped, and the one they call High Priestess wraps the hands in ribbons.” He paused for a moment to smile at her wide, eager gaze, and continued with more ease. “You spend the night in the sacred space with your love, when you wake, you are… bonded. Unrecognized by anyone, with the exception of yourselves and your souls, of course. They call it a handfast, or spiritual union. I want to do this with you.”

“Ohhh,” Nyla crooned, nodding, melting in his arms. “Te amo. Yes. Yes of course. Our timing has always been terrible why not do it now?”

“Si!” Zevran chuckled with a nod, “This was my thinking as well. When is it ever a good time for anything?” 

Surprised by the answer he wanted, and if he were being honest, the answer he had expected, he leaned back, putting distance between them so he could look at her.

“Nyla said yes and now Zevran has no words,” he spoke softly, his eyes searching her face in wonderment.  _ Esposa. Wife. _

“Are you feeling  _ shy,  _ Zevran?” Nyla’s cheeks heated as she felt his shyness, the way he froze under the weight of having asked her, after receiving her yes… the reality of it hit her, and she felt the implications, the beauty of their agreement. “Shit.” 

Chuckling, with a broad smile, Zevran nodded, and it kept getting sweeter the longer they sat with it. He squirmed in his seat, and for the first time with his amor, he felt his threshold for intimacy. “Shit.”

Nyla smiled, slipping the Cousland family ring from her thumb. “It seems an appropriate moment to give you this.” She held up the silver band and purred, “¿Lo aceptas?”  _ Will you accept this? _

Still at a loss for words, he took it from her palm with a small smile. Holding the heavy silver band between his fingers, he recognized the Cousland heraldry. Part of him, an honored and enthusiastic yes, grappled with taking the last relic she had of her former life. But hadn’t he done the same?

“It was my father’s. Fergus gave it to me. I like to think he knew I would gift it to you.” Meeting his eyes, she took it from him and slipped it over his middle finger. Kissing his hand, she held his gaze. “Te amo.”

He looked away from her, thumbing the silver around his finger. When he felt this way, overwhelmed and in love, there was only one accurate way to communicate his feelings, and it wasn’t possible. “Zevran longs for a time when you are recovered, and it feels appropriate to have an erection again.”

After a bout of loud laughter and a few snorts she leaned in to kiss him. “It’s not wholly inappropriate, my love.”

With his mouth an inch from hers, and Nyla straddling him, lips beckoning his kisses, she  _ really  _ tested his resolve. “Nyla, you are injured.” 

“Be gentle with me,” she whispered. 

The moment her lips met his, Zevran felt how he starved for her, and being gentle would be no easy task. 

Perfect kisses expressed the love he couldn’t show with words. Wandering hands, breathy whimpers and throaty moans. Guiding her with his palms flat on her back, he tipped her from his lap to lay on the bed. 

Straddling her bare thigh and writhing against her, he kissed her neck, her throat, devouring her mouth, running his hands up the only garment she was wearing - his shirt. Gliding hands over her breasts, her belly, Zevran ached for his release, and hers. 

“No, love.” Nyla chuckled and grabbed his hand, on a path toward her heat. “None of your expertise tonight. I can’t take it.”

“Oooh Nyla has never said no to this before,” he chuckled breathlessly, pressing his cock against her thigh, his palm wandering to her breasts, “Then what is the desire of my betrothed?”

“Fuck me,” she whispered breathlessly, heart beating hard; it sounded like a plea, and Zevran kissed her ravenously as he reached between them to unlace his breeches, sliding them off as he positioned himself between her long legs.

Sitting up on his knees he pulled off his shirt. Nyla reached for him, caressing him, big, dark eyes raked over him in lust and love,  _ “Te amo”  _ she whispered, and it stoked his desire. Moving closer to her, he lifted her legs to rest her thighs on his, her legs draping over them; their bodies always fit so well together.

His woman spoke with her hips, writhing gently, and he rubbed the head of his cock along her pink before watching himself disappear inside her with a satisfied groan.

“Te amo,” she whispered breathlessly, feeling her peak far too soon as he rolled his hips and held firmly onto her thighs.  _ “Fuck.”  _

“Mmm,” he let loose a throaty grumble, smirking at her as she writhed and cursed; telltale signs of her rapidly approaching completion. “¿Tan pronto, mi amor?”  _ So soon, my love? _

“Fuck,” she spoke breathlessly, nodding and gripping his forearms. “Yes, like that.”  

Nyla watched with intrigue as Zevran’s gaze pointed downward to where their bodies joined, mouth half open. Breathing heavily, trembling as he took her,  a sheen of sweat on his temples, her head fell back and fingers dug into his forearms. 

“Nyla…” he purred as she groaned his name and trembled for him. Leaning over her, he rested his palms by her sides and kissed her deeply, hips moving fast without meeting her body with any force. Pulling from their kiss, Zevran stilled and trembled above her, much needed release wracking him and making him groan. 

With heart beating hard and relieved groan, he curled around her, his cheek resting on her bosom. His betrothed brushed his hair with gentle fingers; gentle kisses on his forehead, cooing sweet words in Anitvan, relaxing him toward desperately needed sleep.  

“And, I told you so.” She kissed the tip of his ear. “Quickies aren’t so difficult, when one is of a mind to have one.”

Zevran chuckled against her. Though satisfying, the quickie was not so nourishing as what he preferred. He would rather have made her scream for him, felt her tremble several more times, however, she was right; it wasn’t so hard. Smiling at the way her hands caressed his back and arms, “Nyla gets to be correct. Zevran shall bring her a prize.” 

“Ahh. So satisfying.” She chuckled with a yawn, “Te amo.” 

“Te amo, Nyla.” Zevran held her close, listening to her heart and the gentle draw of her sleeping breath.

_ Wife,  _ he thought with tender sorrow, remembering a time when such a thing never occurred as possible. To think, he could still be a Crow, and he would never have found her.  _ Mi amore,  _ he watched her sleep. Still pale and sickly, her eyes still red from the abuses she had inflicted upon them in her mindless clawing and thrashing, anger burned in the deepest places of his heart.    

_ They will pay in blood.  _


	7. Devotion

“Nyla. Nyla.” Zevran rode close to her. “Would you like to hear a joke about my dick?” Her brow furrowed, eyes flicked toward him, and head slowly turned. “Never mind, it is too long.”

She grinned, falling into raucous laughter. The snorting began, and she took several minutes to pull her shit together.

“Zev…” she interrupted herself with uncontrollable giggles as she tried to speak, and Zevran knew she had a good one; he smiled in anticipation. “Would you like to hear a joke about my pussy?”

He blinked at her in surprise, a little aroused as she purred it in her Noble, Ferelden accent.

“Never mind,” she sighed and waved a dismissive hand, “you won't get it.”

“Oooh!” He cackled and leaned forward as if he had been dealt a serious blow. _“Oooh!!!_ As if Nyla could say no to me!”

“I _have_ said no. Several times.”

“Amor, using your mouth instead is not exactly a no.”

“Ah.” She bit her lip with a bashful smile. “Is that a challenge?”

“No,” he asserted with a pointed finger. “Rest assured, Zevran is not posing any challenges. Nyla, why would I do that?”

“Just checking.” Another bout of cackling, snorty laughter tickled through her, _“It's too long!”_

“How is your new armor, amor?”

“Armor, amor.” Nyla snorted a few times with a wide smile.

“Armor, amor,” Zevran repeated, equally entertained. “Saying this several times fast would fuck with Zevran.”

“Do it,” she challenged playfully.  
  
“I do not wish to be fucked with.” He furrowed his brow at her. “You do it.”

Nyla cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and raised a hand in preparation, “No.”

Zevran swatted at her with a loud cackle. “ _Shit,_ amor, tell me how your new fucking armor feels.”

“Light as a feather. Like Spirits of Compassion are massaging my ass as I ride this horse.” She sighed dreamily.

Zevran looked at her and smiled, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Nyla is stuck in bullshit mode. Feet in the stirrups.”

With another deep sigh, she slipped her feet in the stirrups. “It’s very good. Lightweight, less stifling than the Warden armor, and the... face-cover thing-”

“Veil, amor.”

“Yes. It’s not stifling, as I had imagined it would be.” Nyla tucked the veil beneath the hood and behind her ear. Eyes uncovered and face mostly hidden, the veil whispered against her skin in the subtle breeze.

“It suits you,” Zevran wished he could kiss her hidden mouth. “Beautiful. Intimidating.”

Approaching the stables near the Mage’s College, Nyla had only a vague recollection of this place, despite what had transpired there only a few months ago. Back when she was fragmented and lost, a mass of pain gone neglected for far too long. So much repression, needs and desires ignored for the sake of further steeping herself into a life of pain; Nyla shuddered at the memory. Simply holding hands, her only clear memory from that time, was as nourishing as food to her.

Zevran caught her as she slid down from her horse, holding onto her waist for a few moments to gaze into her eyes; accented, beautiful and mysterious when contrasted with the darkness of her veil. “Okay, amor?”

“With you by my side, I can face anything,” she whispered; a gloved hand stroked his jaw briefly.

He moved on, Nyla strolling alongside him. “It will be good to see Wynne. I like her _very_ much. She is a lot like you, you know.”

“Like me?” She squinted at him. “Bullshit.”

“Similar thinking, similar humor, although, Wynne has less of an affinity for dick jokes.” Satisfied in hearing snorty laughter from behind her veil, he smirked and bit his lip in beholding her smiling eyes.

“And approximately how many dick jokes have you told Wynne?”

“A fair few,” he spoke honestly. “She is far more fun than you gave her credit.”

“You really don’t find her to be an insufferable pain in the ass?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged. “Just like you.”

Shaking her head with a _tsk_ , she elbowed him playfully. “Bullshit. I have never done a single wrong thing in my entire life,” Nyla muttered as they walked across the cobblestone courtyard. “Maker’s breath, are we in the right place? None of this shit looks familiar.”

In one swift movement, he scooped her up to cradle her in his arms. “Now it looks familiar, amor?”

Nyla sighed and went limp, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. “Zevran.”

He smiled down at her, remembering what this was like the first time; her gentle touch on his cheek as she blinked to wakefulness. How far they had come, how quickly their love had blossomed.

Eyes flicking around, Nyla looked at the early morning sky; in her periphery, elaborate archways decorated with flamboyant, marble tracery. “I remember.” She raised a hand to cup his jaw and her thumb traced a lazy line along his lower lip. Leaning affectionately into her touch, Zevran’s eyes, once tired and sad, looked younger.

“Zevran?” A familiar voice called out and the click of heeled boots rapidly approached them. A wash of healing flowed through Nyla; every last ache dissipated, the burning of the cut on her hand ceased.

“Shit, it’s Wynne, and I feel so much better,” Nyla said; elated, confused, and defeated. “Don’t put me down, I will  nap while you handle this.” Zevran snorted and put her down, and for the first time in a week Nyla could move with ease. “Holy shit, Zevran. I forgot what it was like to not ache everywhere by virtue of simply existing. Maker’s breath, I love mages.”

“Maker’s breath, is that Nyla? What have you gotten yourself into? Poor dear. Let me look at that armor. _Very_ nice. New weapons? Grew out of those swords you called daggers, hmm? The hood and veil suits you. Very pretty. Zevran designed this for you, didn’t he?”

“Of course.” Zevran smiled proudly. “Although, she said no cape. A shame.” He leaned toward Wynne to kiss her cheek. “Hi, Wynne.”

“So good to see you both, you look like quite the pair. I’m glad you’re here. It does my heart good to see you so well.”

“We had something we needed to talk about,” Nyla began, and Wynne turned and walked away. “¡Esta mujer me saca de quicio!” _Fuck! Everything this woman does just irritates me!_

Following Wynne around the perimeter surrounded by elaborate stilted archways, Nyla couldn’t believe she had such vague memory of something so beautiful. Through the main courtyard of the Mages College, past a large fountain circled by outward-facing stone mabari, through a tunnel of vine trellises, Nyla gasped. “Arbor Blessing?”

“Yes, dear. You would be surprised what mages can do when they’re allowed to focus on their talents largely uninhibited.”

Nyla looked toward Zevran who surveyed everything around them with interest. Hallways became more simple and warm as they neared Wynne’s quarters; it looked like a home to Nyla, and she wondered if there were some way she could find Anders again and smuggle him there.

“Your window is fixed,” Nyla spoke softly as they entered the room, her face feeling hot. The memory of her own desperate wails echoed in her ears, Zevran’s arms warm around her as she wept in a much-needed catharsis.

Nyla looked at him, he looked back at her, and their thoughts were the same. Softness and adoration reverberated between them and he reached toward her. With a practiced swirl of her hand, her arm swishing over her head, Nyla removed her veil and hood. “Te amo,” she whispered, standing close to him.

“Te amo.” He whispered, his hand rested on her cheek, “¿Te encuentras bien, mi amore?” _Are you all right?_

“Eras muy bueno conmigo.” _You were so good to me._ Hand lifting slowly, she rested it on his. “¿Te encuentras bien?” _Are you all right?_

“Si.” He smirked, wanting to pull her tight against him, instead taking her hand and sitting next to her on the couch they occupied months ago. The morning after the storm; a breakfast of fulfilling fruits, and a fight that had Nyla almost coldcock an old woman.

“Interesting development between you two,” Wynne spoke as she prepared tea.

“Yes, Wynne. Tonight we are-”

Nyla rested a hand on his leg and met his eyes with a shake of her head.

“It is just Wynne.” Zevran cocked an eyebrow, gesturing toward the old mage with an open hand.

“Don’t.”

“I _want_ to tell someone, amor. I am excited. Are you not excited?” He smirked with an innocent gaze.

“You _know_ I am, just not excited to tell _her._ ” Nyla rolled her eyes at herself; he was doing the thing with his eyes, manipulating her, and Nyla knew she would fall for it. “Dammit, Zevran.”

“Children, please,” Wynne interjected with a chuckle.

“Nyla, you are being hard on her.”

Nyla sighed, finally cracking beneath the weight of his pout, “All right, darling. Go ahead.”

He smiled and spoke immediately, “Nyla and I are doing spiritual union this afternoon.”

“Oh. That is a much bigger development than I had expected.” Wynne stared at them for several moments. “Are you sure? Do you know what you are getting yourself into? It’s only been, three months or so since-”

“There she goes,” Nyla spoke with an annoyed sigh. “You know, every relationship I have ever been in has been subjected to her sage advice. All two of them.”

Zevran laughed, “Now I am going to marry her even harder.”

“That's the spirit. Hold onto that.” Wynne smiled and placed tea in front of them. Wynne surveyed Nyla for a few moments before speaking. “Nyla, what happened to you?”

Zevran spoke, his hand resting on the small of Nyla’s back. “Crow poison. I think perhaps made from spider venom.”

“Oh, that... “ Wynne thought for a moment. “Did it feel as though you were being pulled apart? I have something that can help.”

“I don’t remember clearly,” Nyla spoke with a smile. “There was a lot of… muscles tightening. Much like, all of my bones trying to break, perhaps. I’m all right now. No need.”

Zevran scrubbed his face in memory of sleepless nights, holding her close and speaking soothing words in response to her trembling voice. _Zev, I’m afraid._ Helpless.

“You’re not completely alright. It’s still there,” Wynne spoke absently while sifting through a cupboard. “Eat the leaf when it’s wet enough to fall apart on your tongue. You will want to be in peak health if you’re going to do a handfasting this evening.” Wynne smiled as she crushed a leaf in her fist and dropped it into Nyla’s tea. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into, do you?”

“Does anyone ever?” Zevran watched Nyla closely as she sipped her tea; she looked calm, but it was the calm seen in someone whose patience is being tested. “We need to speak with you about something.”

“Yes, but… all right, I’ll let it go, before someone breaks a window.” Wynne looked pointedly at Nyla with a smirk.

 _“Bitch,”_ Nyla responded with a chuckle and a snort. “Sorry about that. The window, I mean.”

“It’s fine, dear. Nothing a little magic couldn’t handle.” Waving her hand dismissively with a smile, she resumed with seriousness. “Oh, Morrigan was here looking for you.”

“The fuck does she want?” Nyla blurted before she could stop herself.

“Why would she come to you?” Zevran added.

“Has she been looking for us in a lot of places or did she just know we were coming here?” Nyla poked the leaf in her cup and then drank it. “She’s always got some bullshit to pull, this makes me uneasy.”

“She’s not so bad.” Zevran shrugged. “Except that one time. That was bad.”

“I’ll say,” Nyla muttered. “Maker’s breath that was disgusting.” She put the cup down, bitter leaf on her tongue.

Zevran watched her closely. “Does it feel better?”

“I didn’t feel bad to begin with,” she shrugged, resting a hand on his knee. Warmth and relaxation spread through her chest, down to her belly, then into her shoulders. With a sigh, she sat up straighter, more alert. “No. Yes. It feels better.”

“What did she want, Wynne?” Zevran laid a hand on Nyla’s, able to relax a little more.

“She didn’t say exactly.” Wynne mused, delighting in witnessing them together. A chorus of disgusted noises came from the couple, hands flying up in exasperation. “Well, she did say she had an important gift.”

“Ah, shit. I remember what her important gifts are like.” Nyla chuckled, palming her face. “I’ll worry about _her_ later, if ever. We came here to ask you something. I know you have spent significant time with the Wardens...” she hesitated, “Do you know anything of the Wardens and their taint?”

“Yes, I know of it,” Wynne spoke patiently, attention piqued. “I know what it is. I know there is a joining. I know what it means for you as a Warden, but I know nothing about how the taint got there.”

“Zevran and I have taken on trying to find a cure for the taint. Have you heard any accounts of anyone being cured, or anyone seeking a cure?”

“Yes. There is one former Warden I know of, the taint left her somehow. Fiona. Perhaps I could arrange for you to meet with her.” Wynne sipped her tea. “When she could no longer be a Warden, she came here. I don’t know the whole story, myself, or I would tell you.”

Zevran smiled at Nyla, “This is a good lead, no?”

“It’s something. The Warden’s must have trusted her. I wouldn’t have sent her on her way, with all she knows. If we come back tomorrow, could you arrange a meeting with her?”

“Of course.” Wynne smiled. “I’d be glad to. You might want to give it two days, honestly, if you are handfasting tonight.”

“Yes. Day after tomorrow.” Zevran spoke for them. “And we best get going, amor. It is our intended time.”

Nyla blushed fiercely and smiled at him with a nod. “Estoy ansiosa y preparada, mi amor.” _I am eager and ready, my love._

"So sweet, you two. I'm so glad you are happy. Treat each other well while life gives the opportunity, we never know what the Maker has in store for us."

“So…” Nyla looked at her in awe and wonder, “You _approve_ of what we are doing?”

Zevran pointed at Nyla with a chuckle, “I knew Nyla loves Wynne.”

Nyla sputtered, leaning away from him, “And how do you extrapolate that from what I said?”

“Starry eyes, look of elation at the mere prospect of her approval.”

“Did you have to say it right in front of her?” Nyla narrowed her eyes at him.

“Call it payback for exposing Zevran in front of Fergus.”

“Zevran,” Nyla tilted her head at him, eyes wide, “that was unintentional.”

Cocking his head at her, Zevran flashed his canines. “And Zevran is spiteful, Nyla should know this by now.”

“All right, children.” Wynne smiled broadly, pleased to see a glimpse of Nyla’s affection for her rather than the disappointment normally expressed, “As much as I enjoy hearing a lovers’ quarrel, go away.”

 

*******

 

“Nervous?” Zevran spoke after half an hour of silent walking together. “So much thinking, so little speaking.”

Slowing her pace, Nyla met his gaze with hers and a veiled smile. “I figured I would let the nervousness hit me all at once on the threshold. It’s just how I do things.”

“Sounds much like a joke, but is the truth, amor?” He stopped walking, and she stopped with him. “You are having doubts? It is too soon for such a thing?” Nyla reached up to remove her veil, and his hand moved to stop her. “Stay hidden.”

“No, it doesn’t feel too soon, love. It feels inevitable.” Folding her arms across her chest, she continued softly, “I am not afraid of this. I’m remembering you from years ago when we first met. Always hiding in trees. Confused by concern. I am… impressed, by how much you have grown since then. And now you are getting married.”

“To _you.”_

“Zevran.” She giggled, tilting her head at him. “I hadn’t forgotten that part.”

“The dark times in my life you have seen.” Zevran’s heart felt heavy beneath the weight of the memories. “Never has anyone known me as you do.”

“I want to know more.” She took his gloved hand in hers and continued with teasing inflections, “I wonder what Zevran will be like as a married man?”

 _“Shut up, Nyla!”_ He laughed, wrapping his arms around her with a playfully aggravated groan. “Zevran was not ready to be thinking so far ahead!”

“So far ahead? But isn’t this a mere five minutes from -” Nyla’s muffled laugh sounded as he pressed her face against his neck.

“No more speaking!” He started walking, withholding laughter. “You are ruining Zevran’s wedding day.”

 _“Ruining!”_ She laughed, pulling off her gloves, tucking them in her belt and reaching out to him; a silent request for him to hold her hand. They strode together in comfortable silence.

In full armor, they walked into the temple, a place as elaborately decorated as the College. It smelled of flowering plants, fountains adorned the courtyard, and it felt comfortably cool; a relief from the stifling heat of outside.

Zevran felt relaxed as he held tight to her hand, his palm against hers. Nyla’s nervousness flared, wondering if she should have prepared vows. Despite the coolness of the room, sweat beaded on her upper lip and she swiped it away with the back of her hand.

An elder woman approached them. Dressed in white robes, she introduced herself as the High Priestess, and spoke that she had been expecting them. This intrigued Zevran, and he chuckled at Nyla’s apparent unease, her eyes widened and forehead wrinkled; he chuckled, and she relaxed with a bashful smile.

They chose their ribbons; blue for devotion, red for passion, and they were ushered apart, impulsively reaching toward the other with longing gazes. Guided along, they went their separate ways, respectful silence accompanied their journeys.

Nyla’s heart fluttered in her chest as they entered a large room made of marble, the walls lined with well-groomed palms, a shallow pool of water in its center. Four women clad in white surrounded Nyla, slowly removing her armor piece by piece until bare. Hair taken down from its braid, her hand held gently, they guided her into the pool richly scented with oils and colored like the sunset. Warm water swirled around her legs as she walked, moving until the water reached mid-thigh.

“Receive,” they whispered, and Nyla meditated on their words.

“Surrender.” Comforting scents surrounded her, and gentle hands scrubbed her with salts, relaxing the tension in her body.

“You are worthy,” each spoke in turn, and the world before her eyes held more color and beauty than she was accustomed.

“Open,” they whispered with splayed hands on her collar, and she wanted to; she felt the desire so keenly it reverberated through her and leaked out her eyes, a few sweet tears slid down her cheeks.

They slathered scented oil on her chest, breasts, her belly, her extremities; nudity, purity, it all made sense to Nyla, and her nervousness waned. They had prepared Nyla to bring to her love the only thing she had to offer; herself.

Zevran surveyed the room for danger, ears keen for the call of his woman. Being apart from her didn’t feel safe, as the four men assisted apprehensive Zevran, stripping him bare and accompanying him into a pool of blue water.

“Trust.” A man spoke to him with a smile, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it in a gesture of camaraderie. “You will not fail her.”

Meeting the man’s eyes with a curious tilt of his head, Zevran wondered how he could know to say such a thing. Hands all over his body, the roughness of salt scrubbing along his skin, soothed and grounded.

“You have her,” the voice spoke again, telling him precisely what he needed to hear. Zevran’s lips quivered with the desire to weep as they poured water over him.

“You chose this,” another man spoke, tapping Zevran’s chest with the tips of four fingers, and Zevran felt fierce in his love for Nyla. He chose this, and he would always choose to have her by his side. They dried him and rubbed him with richly scented oil.

Following the men for the short journey through empty halls, his body lithe and refreshed, feeling alert as they opened a door and stood aside to allow him entry. Unabashedly bare on the opposite side of the room, Nyla stood tall and their eyes met; his heart melted. _Esposa._

A small room, sparsely decorated, furs on the floor, embroidered pillows along its walls. One high window let the sun in to shine upon two pillows, on which they were instructed to kneel. As the lovers took their place in the sun, they were handed small cups of tea and instructed to drink it whole. With eyes locked, they took their tea, the sweetness and spice, subtle bitterness of herbs lingered on their tongues. Relaxation followed, so poignant and rich Zevran had no thoughts to question the tea’s contents.

Handing off their emptied cups, Nyla took both of his hands in hers with an elated smile. Zevran met her with equal enthusiasm, his hands held tight to hers, sighing with the relief of touch. The wizened, feminine voice of the High Priestess spoke to them.

“With full awareness, you are declaring your intent to form eternal and sacred bonds. The promises made today and the ties bound here greatly strengthen your union and will cross the years and lives of the soul’s growth. Do you seek to enter this ceremony?”

“Si,” Zevran whispered.

“Yes,” Nyla spoke tearfully.

Faces flushed, they kept their eyes on each other. The smooth skin and familiar curve of Nyla’s graceful neck rested in his periphery and he wanted so badly to touch her.

“We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity, when the only continuity possible in life is within love, growth, fluidity, freedom. Zevran and Nyla, will you share in each other's pain and seek to alleviate it?”

“Yes.” They spoke as the High Priestess laid a blue cord over their joined hands. Loving gazes flicked between their hands and the eyes of the other.

“Nyla and Zevran, will you share each other’s laughter, look for the light within life, and within each other?”

“Yes.” They shared a smile, and the blue cord wrapped loosely around their joined hands. Zevran held tighter to her, and it did nothing to temper his trembling.

“Zevran and Nyla, will you share in each other’s burdens, so that your spirits may grow in this union?”

“Yes.” They spoke together, the red cord laid over their hands. The glint of the familiar, silver band on Zevran’s finger caught Nyla’s eye, reminding her of her youth, innocence - so long ago.

“Nyla and Zevran, will you take the heat of anger and use it to temper the strength of this union?”

“Yes.” They responded as the red cord wrapped around their joined hands. Nyla smiled for him; a gentle smile that shone in her eyes, and he mirrored her.

“Will you honor your other as an equal in this union?” The voice of the High Priestess crooned, drawing their focus.

“Yes,” they spoke again.

“Do you wish to exchange vows?”

“Yes,” Zevran spoke first. “We found each other, healed together, for each other. While I cannot make you queen, what I offer you is all of myself, undivided. Devoted.” He wanted to wipe away her tears, instead, he smiled and basked in her understanding. “I will always have you.”

Nyla stared at Zevran with wide eyes, the ache of love and adoration so akin to heartbreak she couldn’t help but weep. This moment could have been with Alistair, at a royal wedding. She would have been queen; she and Alistair would have been overburdened, parted and it would have eaten away at her.

Alistair lied to her, betrayed her, broke his promises, loved her deeply and not one moment could be remembered in regret. Alistair’s love, his betrayal, his death groomed her to receive what followed, and Nyla could not fathom how something so utterly devastating could lead to something so profoundly beautiful.

As it all dawned as her, complete understanding and acceptance breathed life into her and it felt as if she had been waiting for her entire life to say, “you are all I have ever wanted.”

Zevran’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, steeping in feeling wholly accepted for who he was, and for the fourth time, Nyla saw his tears.

Weathered hands tied their ribbons and spoke, “As your hands are bound, so are your spirits in a union of trust and love. Your love is a constant source of light, like the stars, and the earth a firm foundation from which to grow. May your hands have the strength to hang on during the storms and the dark of disillusionment. May they remain tender and gentle as you nurture each other in wondrous love. May these hands be healer, protector, shelter and guide for each other. By the strength of your own love, I pronounce you married.”

Watching each other closely, others left, the door closed, leaving them alone in the room. Leaning into warmth and adoration, their foreheads touched.

“Esposa…” he whispered tearfully, raising their hands closer to his mouth to place gentle kisses on Nyla’s long fingers.

“Te amo,” Nyla whispered, her hands pulled away, loosely tied ribbons fluttering from their separated fingers.

As she laid back, beckoning him with a breathy moan, his hands followed her long legs, along the soft skin of her belly and breasts, he laid beside her. Oils soaked into skin made their bodies feel like silk against silk, and she curled into him, one leg draped over his hip, her hand rested over his heart.

Arms around him soothed a lifetime of disingenuous touches, body used for utility and occasional selfish pleasures, nothing had ever felt so pure as this moment. _Wife. Esposa._ Overwhelmed by his efforts to express his feelings had always been the norm, and he felt unburdened to try as her lips met his jaw and his neck, whispering sweetness to soothe his aches.

Crows, including his past self, would call him weak, yet with this woman, Zevran felt more empowered than in all of his life. He had been groomed to be a wicked man, and Nyla had been the wind that carried the awakening of his dormant places; everything she had offered was precious to him, and now she had given _herself,_ the most precious of offerings _._ This was perfect, and he celebrated it all as strongly as he ached.

“Esto es perfecto, Zevran.” _This is perfect._ Nyla felt her heart breaking for him, beholding his soft stare laced with pain and awe. “Soy tuya.” _I am yours._ She simply wanted him to have everything; his pain, his love, joy, awe, his childlike and playful ways of being.

“We chose this,” Zevran whispered, and Nyla smiled and nodded with a tearful gaze.

His heart and mind grappling with the word _wife,_ Zevran brushed fingertips across her forehead, along her cheek and her jaw, the elegant curve of her neck, across her chest to lay on her heart. Beautiful, to make explicit his devotion when he already had devoted himself so many years ago. As if hearing his thoughts, she spoke soothing words to him.

“I know, Zevran,” she whispered with a smile, leaning in to kiss away his tears. “Lo sé,” _I know_ she whispered again, pulling him snug against her, breasts pressing against his chest, long leg drawing him closer.

“What do you know, esposa?” He questioned her softly, lost within a tumult of emotion and a need to hear her.

“I know this hurts,” she crooned, resting her hand on his cheek. “I know you have gained more than you ever saw possible, or ever felt you deserved. I see you aching over what could have been, and what may come. Never have you been so happy, and never have you ever had so much to lose.”

He held her tight, his forehead meeting hers as he wept. “How do you know this?”

“Because we are the same.”

Lips met for the sweetest and most satisfying of kisses as their most implicit expression of love wanted to come forward. Desire which had carried them into territories they met unprepared; how fortunate, that their resolve had been so weak and their attraction so strong.

Zevran’s breathy groan breezed past her ear making her belly flutter and eyes close as she moved to take him inside of her; he caressed her thigh, still draped over his hip.  A hand on her cheek piqued her attention, and Nyla met Zevran’s soft gaze.

“Quédate conmigo.” _Stay with me,_ Zevran crooned with a gentle roll of his hips.

“Siempre.” _Always._ Nyla’s moan was cut off by a kiss, and their bodies met with languid slowness. Whimpering into each other’s mouths, Nyla pressed on his shoulder with a gentle hand to encourage him to lay on his back; he did, resting on his elbows to be closer to her.

Zevran groaned as he watched her rise and fall slowly, their eyes locked, her hands wandered his chest and stomach. Long fingers lovingly traced tattoos on a form so familiar she didn’t have to look to know their placement.

Surprised to see such a contented and adoring smile on her beloved’s face, Nyla mirrored him. Zevran laid still, relaxed, cheeks flushed, sweat beaded on his temples, and his head tilted back with intermittent satisfied groans and sighs. His eyes remained on hers, watching her with curiosity and sweet lust.

She kissed him, caressed him, giving and taking at her leisure, and Zevran relaxed into surrender. Their aches dissolved, leaving only love and pleasure in its wake. 

 


	8. A Few Precious Moments

_“Father?” Nyla knocked on the door to his study with her sweaty palm wrapped tight around her long braid._

_“Yes, pup. Come in.”_

_“I needed to speak with you about something… a personal matter.”_

_Familiar, blue eyes met hers, and he spoke with a nod and a patient smile. “Of course.”_

_“Zevran and I want to marry,” she blurted, her heart fluttering in her chest. “We seek your blessing.”_

_“Ah,” Bryce smiled with a good-natured chuckle. Placing his book on the end table, he sat up tall and clasped his hands in his lap. A gleam of silver shone on his middle finger; the Cousland family ring. “You children and your Antivans. Is it the accent?”_

_“Father!” She admonished him, blushing a deep pink and grasping her dress to dry her palms. “How dare you call me out like this.”_

_With a loud guffaw and a nod he spoke, “As your mother said years ago, your marrying him was inevitable. Zevran is a good man. Of course you have my blessing, pup. Why do you look so relieved? Did you think I would say no and see you married anyway without my blessing?”_

_“You believe I would do such a thing?” She placed a palm on her chest and looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “You know me so well.”_

 

“Zevran?” Nyla whispered, her eyes opening to feel his palm on her cheek, gliding down her neck, her back and she got lost in his soft, bleary gaze.

“Te amo,” he whispered back, wrapping her snug in his arms and burying his face in her neck. “Mi amor. Esposa.”

 

_“I’m not the informant!” Brilliant blue eyes pleaded, a blade at her throat._

_“Bullshit! The evidence is there,” he glared, betrayed; and to think he had cared so deeply for this treacherous wench._

_“It’s not true! Someone planted this lie!”_

_“Why would I believe such a thing?” Zevran spat, anger building, unsure of why he bothered with listening to her bile. “What reason could anyone have to frame you?”_

_“I don’t know! You must believe me.” Tears welled in her pleading eyes. “I could never betray you.”_

_“Of course you could,” he raged, lips quivering. “It is what we were made for!”_

_“Please, my love! You know me better!” Tears slid down her cheeks, “I love you. I could never betray you. I swear it.”_

_Beautiful Rinnala; always there, always having his back. She trusted him, and her life was in his hands. Loved him? How could she know such a thing? Did he love her as well? Could he ever know the answers if he let Taliesin kill her?_

_Crouching down to look at her, eye to eye, he could hear the truth behind her desperate pleas. His fingers brushed her cheek, and she subtly leaned into his touch. How could he doubt her?_

_“I believe you.” Closing his eyes with a furrowed brow he spoke his orders. “Let her go.”_

 

Opening his eyes, Nyla’s forehead rested against his, and his heart ached with longing to keep her. Shifting his body, silky smooth skin against his, he needed to hear her voice. “Nyla?”

“I am with you,” she tucked his hair behind his ears, legs entangling with his. “I will always be with you.”

“I know.”

 

_Alistair bent down to kiss her cheek, and she craned her neck to feel the familiar softness of his mouth for just a moment longer._

_“I know you’ll be happy together,” he smiled, a gentle palm on her cheek. The gold of his crown accented the brown of his eyes. “He loves you, and that’s all I could ask for.”_

 

Jarring awake with a sharp intake of air, her eyes opened wide. “My heart,” she wept. Zevran’s palm rested on her chest, and she felt more grounded within a tumult of remorse and longing.

“I have you,” Zevran breathed. Her face contorted as she cried, clinging to him. “I am here.”

 

_“Ahh, awake again, mi niña?” he responded to the gentle mewling of his little girl, lifting her from her bassinet. Little babe silenced and looked up at him with big, dark eyes. “Let us allow mamá to sleep, no? She will go crazy with both of us being so needy.”_

_He stepped outside and settled comfortably beneath a tree. Warm winds blew, carrying the fresh scent of peonies and wild roses. Cradling her snug against his chest, so soft and warm, he supported her little head with its tuft of fine, dark hair in the crook of his elbow. His baby looked up at him and smiled. Her tiny hand wrapped around his finger, pulling it to her mouth, little legs kicking in delight as Zevran cooed to her in his native tongue, “Te amo, preciosa! Mi niña!”_

 

“She is perfect,” he spoke softly. The absence of his babe startled him, and he turned his attention to Nyla who met his watery gaze with softness and adoration. “Such a beautiful, small thing.”

 

*******

 

“Zevran.” Nyla stood facing him in front of the temple, smiling and blinking in the morning sun.

“Nyla.” He tilted his head at her with a sigh.

“Wow. What the fuck _was_ that?” She rested her hands on her hips and giggled.

“Something in the fucking tea.” After a few moments of silence he gestured to the temple with a subtle tilt of his head. “Zevran was not prepared.”

“I don’t think I could ever prepare for something like that,” she spoke softly, lost in his golden-brown eyes and the memory of his touch. “See, now this is why Wynne said we would want an extra day, and I have to admit I fucking _hate_ when she's right. I still feel rather… odd. Relaxed but energetic, and I want to talk _so fucking much.”_

“It is kind of awesome.” He sighed, shaking his head. “That was not safe. We were compromised. We cannot afford to spend… fifteen fucking hours in a trance.”

“Well,” Nyla shrugged, “be that as it may, it went quite well, and I feel quite married. How about you?”

“Married is a feeling? Are you sure?" He teased with a smile. "I feel…” Zevran tapped his lips with his index finger. “Zevran is not good at this even without tea.”

“I’ll wait,” Nyla purred, stepping closer to him. “We have all day.”

“Amor, it is harder to think now.” Zevran placed his hands on his hips. “I feel like I _must_ say something.”

“Oh?” She giggled, adjusting her veil which tickled her chin. “But I want to hear it.”

“Fuck,” he looked at the ground. “And now she teases me. I feel like… I want to kill things for you. Which I have been doing for years, but…” he held up a clenched fist, “now I want to kill things for you even harder.”

She hummed thoughtfully with a nod. “Protective, darling?”

“Yes!” He grinned at her, letting his shoulders relax. “I wish to protect you. Which I always have, however, now I wish to protect you harder.”

“Oh!” She raised a finger and paused for thought. “It’s as if I bonded to you in a different way. Where there was a bond, there is… also a bond…” Pressing a finger to her lips, her brow furrowed and she looked at the ground for several moments to gather her thoughts. “Hmm.”

“Poetic, Nyla. Well spoken.” Zevran held a hand up spoke as if inspired, “Where there was a bond, there is also a bond.”

With a gracious nod she purred, “Si, mi amor. Thank you for indulging me.”

“In the past I have had lingering thoughts of not being good enough to have you. Now, not so much.”

“Ohh,” Nyla crooned, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close, Zevran rested his hands on her waist. “I am having that experience as well. I am worthy of you now.”

“Of course,” he whispered, having a strong desire to kiss her hidden mouth. Memories of their night of bonding flashed; dreaming in her arms, writhing with her, inside of her, feeling her all around him, with him. “Amor, I wish to get a room.”

“Yes.” She whispered, feeling a shudder of sexual tension, unspent desire after a night of otherworldly sensations. “We have a lot of unfinished business, hmm?”

“We do,” he purred, brushing his nose against hers through her veil; her sultry giggle stoked his desire. “This way, esposa.” _Wife._

“I had such visions,” she smiled, holding tight to his hand as he led them. “They seemed to be… possibilities for the future. Sometimes desires. Sometimes memories. Tell me your dreams, esposo.”

He looked at her and chuckled. “Which one?”

“Your favorite.”

“Mmm.” Pointing his eyes forward, Zevran nibbled the inside of his cheek recalling the soft brown skin of their daughter.

“Mmm?” Nyla watched him closely; he looked beautiful, and so far away. “Darling, you’re blushing. Share with me?”

Shaking his head, he felt ache deep within his chest; their baby girl looked just like mamá, and he missed her. “It would have been nice if my dreams had fed me more realistic ideals.”

“Share with me?” She asked again, reaching out to run gentle fingertips along his jaw.

He couldn’t meet her eyes as he spoke his second favorite dream instead. “We grew old together. Free, and very old. You make a very regal and elegant old person.”

“It wasn’t real, though,” she reminded him, as curiosity got the better of her. “Did I still have my teeth?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he repressed a smile.

“How is that unfortunate?” After a few moments for thought, Nyla stopped walking, snorted, laughed, and pulled him in for a hug. “Wait… do you find us growing old together to be unrealistic?”

“Oh! No. Not that one.” He sighed deeply, petted her hair affectionately. “Let me have a fucking secret, amor.”

“Of course, darling.” She stroked his cheek, soft skin under her fingers sending shivers down her spine. “I don’t mean to pry where you don’t want me.”

“Damn, amor, you had to say it like that?” Blushing fiercely, he felt as though he needed to tell her. “Where I don’t want you? You _had_ to say it like that?”

“Come again?” She giggled, tilting her head at his befuddled stare. “I don’t follow.”

“A babe.” Backing away from her, he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Very small babe with dark eyes and hair like yours.”

“Ah, that one is unrealistic. And incredibly cute, I must say.”

“Cute?” He snorted, shaking his head. “I had never felt such a love. It was _far_ from cute.”

“And this was your favorite of the dreams?” She spoke softly with a full heart, inviting him to talk without pressure.

“There was a deep satisfaction in this dream, as if our lives were complete. We had created something beautiful. It was _us.”_ Why he had thought he couldn’t share it with her, Zevran would never know. “You are good to me, esposa.”

Her heart melted as he looked at her with adoration in his gaze, a sweet smile on his lips. “I’m going to be even better to you when we get to that room, darling.”

“We need to keep walking.” He grinned at her, slipped an arm around her waist and lead her onward. “Tell me one of your dreams, Nyla.”

“One that touched me deeply,” she took a deep breath to steady her heart. “Alistair was still alive. He was king. He was happy for us.”

He stopped walking and faced her. Heart aching with tenderness and remorse, something about her words stung.

“Zevran?” His gaze tugged at her heart, and she wanted to take his pain away. Reaching out and laying a palm on his cheek, spoke sweetly to him. “Darling? Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I am not sure,” he breathed, tilting his head at her. Such keen attention she always had for him. Such a devoted creature. Always so loving. Alistair’s good fortune had become his; Zevran’s dearest friend had died for his happiness and it ached. “I miss him too.”

“Zevran, I don’t miss him like I used to.” Nyla’s lips quivered, feeling the shame of letting Alistair go after loving him so deeply for such a long time, as if she had abandoned him. Weeping despite her desire not to, she spoke with a wavering voice,“You are all I have ever wanted.”

“I never thought I would be to someone, what I am to you.” He couldn’t help grinning as he thumbed her tears away. “He would have wanted happiness for us. Okay, amor? Hurting?”

“A little.” She sniffled, the pain in her chest melting away under his affection. “Now I’m not.”

“Room now, no more speaking,” he smiled, tugging her arm until she followed.

“But I really feel like talking,” Nyla giggled, snorted, stopping short. “I smell food. Can we get food?”

“Okay,” he nodded, pulling her in another direction. He smirked at her and purred, “You will need the energy.”

“How are you so sexy?” Nyla spoke with a sudden upwelling of frustration and a desire to throw him down and take him. “No, let’s go get a room.”

“Okay, room then.” He chuckled, guiding her in the opposite direction.

“Maybe we could get food after.”

“After what, amor?”

“You know what after!” She cackled, shaking his arm. “How dare you tease me like this.”

“Well, so you are informed, I do not intend to do the quickie, as you often suggest.”

 _“The quickie!”_ She snorted with a laugh. “You’re right, perhaps food, then? But...” She stopped, letting go of his hand, her arms flopping helplessly to her sides. “Zevran, I can’t choose between sex and food. They’re literally my two favorite things and I need them both.”

“Poor amor.” He laughed at her devastated stare; so dramatic, but refreshing to see her so expressive. “Food first. We will take it back with us.”

Offering his arm, Nyla held onto him, and he guided her toward the market square. Zevran remained vigilant, scanning the thin crowd of people going about their business. Undertones of fear for his wife seemed to be ruining his after-wedding, and it soured his mood.

Nyla gasped, startling him from his focus on passers by. _“Fruit!”_

He chuckled, letting her lead him toward a colorful stall.

“Apples.” She brushed fingers along the red and white fruit.

“Ziziphus, amor and stop touching all of them,” he glanced around warily. “It’s gross.”

“What’s a ziziphus?”

He raised an eyebrow at her and tried again. “Jujube?”

“What’s it like?”

“You have never had?” He shook his head, “I thought Ferelden had trade enough for you to encounter ziziphus, amor. It is much like an apple, only sweeter.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she glared at him. “So basically a sweet apple.”

 _“Ziziphus!_ And they were picked too early,” Zevran grumbled, glaring at the young woman standing behind the stall. As he scanned the display, he only found two worth eating.

“What’s this?” She pointed, and Zevran felt the keen relief of not having to remind her not to touch.

“Pomegranate.” He grabbed three. “Now, these are nice. Hard to fuck up a pomegranate.”

“Watermelon!” She pointed in front of Zevran, and he chose a small one for her. “I love watermelon. And you.”

“Mm hm. I know.” He followed her for a few paces with a shy smile. “These small ones are sweeter than what you are accustomed.”

“Like my husband. What are _those?”_ Bending down, she furrowed her brow and stared with wide eyes at a pile of small, crinkled, brown things. “It looks like-”

“It’s a _date,_ amor. I know you have had these. You love them.”

She thought hard, trying to remember. “I love them?”

“In Orzammar?” He chuckled. “I fed you one, and upset a certain other Warden.”

 

_“Warden! Warden! Open!” Zevran spoke excitedly, holding his hand in front of her face. She opened her mouth wide, and he tossed the dried fruit. “It’s a date.”_

_“Mmm...” She chewed slowly, savoring rich sweetness on her tongue. “It’s a what, now?”_

_“Nyla!” Alistair exclaimed with raised eyebrows, “Don’t let the assassin put things in your mouth!”_

_“He’s right,” Zevran nodded and fed her another._

 

“I _do_ love these! I’ve never seen one. It was in my mouth before I had a chance to.” Nyla giggled, resting a hand on her chest. “Do you remember Alistair’s face when you fed me the second one?”

“Mm hm, tormenting him was such a favorite pastime of mine. That you played innocent and went along with my bullshit during the blight is a highlight for me.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “I was always stopping you from killing each other, simultaneously giving you the desire to.” She nodded, taking the watermelon from the crook of his arm. “It was our way of passing the time.”

“Hm. I was unsure if you had noticed. You fucking notice everything, I should have known better.”

Nyla waved and got the shopkeep’s attention. “A sack, please?”

“Amor, you noticed _everything._ You could smell a bad mood from ten yards away and then trick them into crying over it.”

“Care, darling,” she purred, meeting his eyes and holding the bag open as he set their fruit in it. “All I did was pay attention, and care.” Nyla reached into her pouch and paid for their goods.

Drowning in big, dark eyes, he could almost see her smile beneath the veil she wore. “You are very pretty, amor.”

“I like it when you smile at me like that.” His gaze flicked away from her, and his smile changed almost imperceptibly. The loss of his attention, and his lack of reaction spoke volumes. “I saw that, darling,” she purred. “How many?”

“Two.” He took her hand and held tight to her. “They are either not here for us, or they have not seen us.”

“Perhaps we should-”

“Kill them without mercy? Absolutely,” he purred.

“Well, yes. But let’s follow them first to see what they are up to.”

Zevran shrugged and thought for a few moments. “Nah. Who cares?”

“I just thought it would be fun,” she chuckled. “Maybe witness something informative. Maybe find other Crows.”

He chuckled shaking his head. “No, amor.” She followed his lead, and they left the market square.

“You don’t think they would be here possibly for a convergence?”

“No.” He smirked at her and stopped. “That is too risky.”

“Not if we were sneaky about it.” She saw his focus drift to something behind her, and she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck. “Not in the mood for a little danger?”

“I mean it is too risky for them. They converge only in Antiva in their respective houses.” Zevran looked into her eyes again, his hand stroking her back. “And I will never be in the mood to see mi esposa in danger.”

She giggled as he lead her toward an alleyway. “Aren’t you so sweet.”

“One thing about Crows, amor. Do not follow them for long, they will notice. We got _married,_ Nyla.” He smiled. “It still feels nice.”

“It does. And we still haven’t eaten or had a good-”

He signaled for her to be silent, and then waved her away to hide behind some crates; he hid across from her. Placing their sack of fruit on the ground, he put a finger to his lips.

With heart pounding, Nyla felt the familiar excitement of a pending battle; Zevran’s stern gaze darted around. He slid on his mask, pulled on his gloves, and drew his weapons. She mimicked him; gloves on, eager to try her new double bladed sword.

Minutes passed, and Zevran could hear their voices in the distance speaking in Antivan. He nodded at his wife, flashing her his best smirk; lovely, when she blushes and bats her eyes. She returned his nod, signalling her readiness.

Footsteps approached and Nyla swallowed, afraid to peer over the crates. Zevran waited until footfalls silenced, and stole a quick glance. He pointed toward the Crows, held up three fingers and waited for Nyla to acknowledge him with a nod.

A man spoke in Antivan. “We give them ten minutes before we leave.”

“They’ll be here.” The other asserted, folding his arms across his chest. “They wouldn’t miss out on the coin.”

Nyla nodded with eyebrows raised, and pointed at Zevran. _I told you!_

He responded by pursing his lips and shaking his head. _Stop fucking around, we can laugh about how right you were later._ Their biggest concern was how many more would come. _We should engage now, before they-_

“Scout the area,” one spoke, and Zevran rolled onto his back, kicking the crates over with both feet. They toppled onto the nearest man who grunted and tumbled forward.

Crates broken open, their battleground rapidly strewn with deep red ziziphus. Nyla peered around her crates, assessing. One struggling beneath fruit and splintered wood, one struggling on the ground with throat cut, the other already engaged. _Holy shit, Zevran!_

She leaped over rolling ziziphus holding her double edged sword over her head. Landing next to the poor fool on his hands and knees, she lobbed his head clean off.

Turning to help Zevran, she witnessed the killing blow. A blade in the Crow’s heart; an instant death.

“Nyla!” He whipped around, and she startled. “Okay?”

She pouted, furrowing her brow, “It was too easy. I wanted to test my new blade.”

“You cut that man’s head off,” he quirked an eyebrow at her. “That seemed a sufficient test.”

“No, I don’t want to cut off heads with it.” She waved her weapon around, her hips moving and body twisting gracefully. “I want to dance with it.”

“Ahh,” Zevran stepped over ziziphus, moving toward her. With a playful smirk he took his stance; one blade extended in front of him, the other held out to his side. “Then, mi esposa, may I have this dance?”

“Dancing is customary after a wedding.” She pointed at him with her sword still wet with Crow’s blood. “Winner gets to be on top.”

Nothing in Zevran’s life had ever occurred as so fucking sexy. With a cordial nod he purred, “You have a deal.”

Zevran lunged at her, his blow swiftly deflected with a flick of her wrist, weapon caught in the hooked crevices of her double edged sword and forced from his hand. It shocked him as it clattered across the ground, catching his gaze, and when he looked back, her blade was already at his throat.

He spoke with wide eyes and a sudden erection, “Did not see that coming. Best two of three?”

“Nope. You lose,” she purred, pleased with herself beyond measure. “Unless you want to raise the stakes?”

“How about…” Zevran paused for thought, pressing a gloved finger to his lips. “Winner-”

Movement caught her eye, and Nyla extended her right arm with a jerk, flicking her wrist; nothing happened. “Fuck.”

Zevran turned around to see a projectile dagger penetrate the eye of the approaching Crow.

“It works!” Zevran whipped around to face her again, overwhelmed with arousal. “Very good, amor! And you look so awesome using it.” Clenching his fist he growled, “It makes me want to have sex with you even harder.”

“It got stuck, though.” She peered into her sleeve to examine the spring-loaded mechanism. “That’s no good.”

“It will loosen up with use.” He shook his head, pointing at her. “You stop touching my face from now on, with that problematic thing.”

“No, your pretty face is safe, my love. It takes quite a bit of force to get it going,” she spoke thoughtfully, holding her arm at a different angle, still trying to peer into her sleeve. “I can’t even see it. This is bothering me. Get my dagger, will you, darling?”

“Certainly. See, now _these_ are nicely ripened ziziphus,” he pointed at the ground while walking to the corpse several feet away. “Wow, that dagger is… really in there,” Zevran mumbled, wrinkling his nose and bending down to retrieve it. As he suspected, the head of the man raised with his pull. “Gross.”

“Maybe hold him down with a foot on his throat,” she spoke absently, reaching two fingers into her sleeve. She glanced at him to see his pursed lips and quirked eyebrows. “Sorry, you’re an archer. You know what you’re doing. Ignore me.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, resting his foot on the man’s throat and pulling at the small, silver dagger. Rapid footsteps approached, and Zevran looked up with a growl, a blade held out.

 _“The Black Shad-”_ A small silver dagger pierced the Crow’s eye with a splat.

Zevran’s eyes widened as the man stood there for a moment and then tumbled to the ground. “Holy absolute shit. I love you.”

“The other one works!” She grinned with a snorty giggle. “Grab that one too, while you’re over there?”

“How are you aiming _right for their eyes?”_

“I was definitely _hoping_ for headshots, but I think those were both more luck than skill.”

He shrugged, “I am still impressed. Gross,” Zevran grumbled as the first dagger finally slid out.

She stepped over the ziziphus and went to retrieve the other blade. “Squeamish, my love?”

“Not particularly, but you have to admit, pulling small, serrated blades from dead men’s faces is exceptionally gross.” He watched her pull the blade out with a quick jerk. “Yours was easier.”

“Hm. Definitely gross.” She sighed, cleaning it on a dead Crow’s cloak. “I hope there will be more. I still haven’t tried my new blade.”

“You know,” Zevran stood with her and smiled. “I had feared our current state might make fighting more challenging, however, it has made it more fun. You are typically quite serious when you kill.” He continued with a chuckle, retrieving his blade and sheathing them both. “That stoic, stern, Nyla face.”

“Does it even matter, beneath a veil?” She asked, slipping a small knife into her sleeve and into its casing with a satisfying click. “Wait, how did you know they were coming here?”

“I didn’t,” he shrugged. “I suspected they might pass by that way.” He pointed, and another Crow rounded the corner. “Hola,” he snarled, withdrawing his pointed finger and drawing his blades. “Mi esposa wishes to try out her new blades, are you free?”

 _“The Black Shadow!”_ He rasped with wide eyes, and a knife thunked into his eye.

Zevran’s head tossed back with an irrepressible, _“Ha!”_

She giggled, walking to retrieve her knife. “Three for three. I think I’m actually aiming successfully, but I need more practice to be sure.”

“It is utter torture to not be able to kiss you sometimes.”

“I like the anticipation.” Blade retrieved, cleaned and back in its casing she glanced around at the five dead Crows. “Do we clean this up or...”

“No, esposa.” Zevran took a moment to stretch his neck and back. “I like to leave a trail.”

“Let’s go then,” she pulled off her bloodied gloves, tucked them away and offered her hand. “I’m famished.”

Zevran pulled off his gloves, picked up their bag of fruit and took her outstretched hand in his. “Esposa.”

“That wasn’t much of a fight, was it?” She sighed, glancing back at the carnage as they walked together. “I can’t tell if I’m skilled or just very lucky.”

“Story of my life, amor. Though, my luck is so consistent, I consider it a skill.”

 

*******

 

“Te amo,” Zevran panted, his cheek pressed against hers, feeling her tremble as he rested his weight on her. “Esposa,” he crooned when she gasped, her fingers digging into his back, and her long legs around him.

“I love you,” she breathed, writhing against him. “More,” she whispered, feeling desperation akin to their first time together; as if deprived of touch for far too long.

With a generous roll of his hips Zevran pressed hard into her, making her gasp and arch her back. Her arms wrapped tight around him, lips on his neck, breasts pressed firm against his chest.

Indulging in every writhe, every deep breath, Zevran could feel her enjoyment of him in the way she moved with him, against him; so responsive and eager for his touch. Pleasing her, making her moan and plead; she was his wife, she had given herself to him, and he loved her more with every thrust and needy gasp. Rising up to rest his palms on either side of her head, he could feel her close to her peak and he wanted to watch her.

“Say my name,” he panted, appreciating her soft, lusty gaze on his, her parted lips, the sheen of sweat on her flushed skin.

“Zevran.” She repeated this precious word several times, stoking their desire.

Her palms wandered his skin, wrapping her legs more firmly around the familiar curve of his waist. His golden, silky hair wavered with every movement, framing his face, lending a softness to his beauty which tugged at her heart. Gasping and tossing his head back, so beautiful to behold, her heart felt full and her belly fluttered as she peaked with a loud moan of his name.

Zevran followed, growling, his hips stuttering; Nyla loved the way he bared his teeth, furrowed his brow and wrinkled his nose as he came. With a sharp gasp he collapsed on top of her, his cock twitching inside of her as he trembled and panted.   

With exhaustion setting in, Zevran abandoned all notions of ravishing her all night; sadly, there was no fucking way it could happen, with body and mind giving out on him. Drifting off to sleep in the warmth of her arms, she encouraged him to roll onto his side with a gentle nudge, moving with him. A cheek resting on her arm, Zevran smiled at gentle caresses on his face, along his ear, the back of his neck, they held each other in blissful silence.


	9. Fuck, Sleep, Run

“Zev,” she whispered from beside him. “Darling, wake up. It’s time to go.”

“No,” he muttered, reaching out to grab her, dragging her halfway across the bed to squeeze her in his arms, her warm, luscious bottom pressed against him. “Should rest today. And fuck more.”

“Shit,” she chuckled. “No, yesterday was ridiculous enough. We need to be serious today.”

“You are probably right,” he whispered, falling asleep with his lips pressed against her shoulder. Her voice brought him back to wakefulness.

“What an inopportune time to indulge in a handfasting ceremony.” Nyla wriggled to get more comfortable in his arms, shifting to her back so she could look at him. _Beautiful man,_ she thought, her eyes tracing his pointed ear framed by golden hair. “They should have told us what we were getting ourselves into.”

“The purpose of their not telling is to set no expectation.” He kissed her shoulder with a deep sigh and a contented smile. Too tired to even open his eyes he whispered, “Can we have this day as well, amor?”

“Probably not. We left a massacre about half a mile from here. They’re going to be looking for us.”

“They will believe we are too smart to stick around. That, and removing eyes is not my way. This will confound them.” Zevran yawned, entwined his legs more with hers, breathed in her scent. “More sleep, esposa. Yesterday has taken its toll on me.”

“Ah. Yes. That.” Nyla cleared her throat and bit her lip. Embarrassment tickled through her with a deep sigh. “I had no fucking… fear. I felt so…” she thought hard, and couldn’t place it.

“High?” Zevran offered, brushing fingertips along the soft, smooth skin of her belly.

“I suppose.” She couldn’t quite place why she wanted to fall through the floor. “I’m embarrassed.”

This caught his attention, and he opened his eyes with a furrowed brow; he was not prepared. “How are you lovelier now than when we fell asleep?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I first met you, you looked your age. About twenty. When I found you in Val Chevin, you looked easily forty. Do not glare at me with those dark eyes,” he purred with a soft smile, his hand wandering to caress her breast. “You look yourself, amor. Vibrant. You look your twenty-five years.”

Mere months ago her life had felt barren, no hope for anything, not even a pleasant afterlife with Alistair by the Maker’s side. As she brushed along Zevran’s ear with her fingertips, her heart brimmed with tenderness and gratitude for another chance to have herself again. Not only herself, but the man who essentially pointed to her and said, _‘I see you. You’re right there, beautiful and whole, only lost.’_

“Thank you,” she breathed, meeting his bright gaze with her own. “You also seem to have shed a few years as of late. Around your eyes. Can we go now?”

He kissed her, rolled on top of her, taking her hands in his to pin above her head. Nyla’s long legs wrapped around him. “Still early. Why in such a hurry, mi amor?”

“Honestly,” she began breathlessly. “I need to live a full day to erase the weirdness of the previous.”

He laughed, resting his forehead against hers. “It was funny. Let it go.”

“Do you know how often I feel so powerless?” Her hips rolled of their own accord, she whimpered as he nibbled her jaw. “And then to have everything so effortlessly fall into place when I had so little control. It wasn’t right.”

“Come now,” he purred, nibbling her lip. “Nyla was openly curious with her fruit and so easily slaughtered her prey. Everything should always be so easy.”

“You’re wrong,” she hissed as he teased her with writhing hips. “Taking a life should never feel easy.”

“We are murderers, this is not new.” He chuckled, indulging in the smoothness of her skin, breasts pressed against his chest. “Your shame does not serve you. It only hurts. Just let it go.”

“I’ll try,” she whispered, meeting his lips again with hers. “Shall we go then?”

He laughed against her mouth, pulling away and looking down at her. The wide space between her breasts beckoned his cheek, narrow wrists in his grasp, big eyes glistening, dark hair splayed around her, flushed cheeks and writhing hips; she was not making this easy. “I suppose it is getting a little late.”

 

*****  
**

 

“Well, we’re late now,” Nyla smirked beneath her veil, arm linked with his. “Always has to be a big ordeal with you doesn’t it?”

“You’re blaming me for this?”

_“Yes!”_

“ _I_ made it the big ordeal?” He chuckled and stopped walking. “Listen, if you match my passion, it only serves to encourage. Zevran is not fucking all by himself, no?”

Holding up both hands, index fingers extended, she hissed, “Will you _please_ lower your voice?”

“If I recall, you are the one who requested several different positions once you finally noticed the mirrors.”

“Lower-”

“And the way you kept saying, _‘More, Zevran!’_ What am I supposed to say? No, we are going to be late? Do I look a fool?”

“Lower-”

“My favorite part is when I took you from behind, _because you asked me to,_ I pushed your bosom to the bed and watched you watch us in the mirror.”

Nyla rested both palms on his leather-clad chest, her cheeks red-hot with equal parts embarrassment and arousal. Staring at shapely, smirking lips she whispered, “I... rather enjoyed the way you screamed my name.”

 

*****  
**

 

“Now we’re…” Nyla panted, rolling off of him and settling comfortably on her back. “Maker’s breath. Really late.”

His arms and legs felt like jelly, and he hadn’t quite caught his breath yet. “I blame you. That one was you.”

“Too hot,” she moaned, grabbing the sheet and wiping her face. “Maker's breath.”

Humming in agreement, his hand found hers to hold. “Perhaps a bath, then leave?”

“It’s dusk,” Nyla giggled, shifting to her side to cuddle up to him. So in love, her hand rested on his heart, fingers idly caressing in place, legs entangling with his. “Tomorrow. It will work out.”

Wrapping both arms around her, he kissed her damp forehead. Feeling his breath, heart slowing, relaxation pulsing through him, he ran a hand along the skin of her back. “Amor?”

“Mmm?” Pressing her lips to his chest, the sensations of skin on skin started to feel too good again.

“Ever have the looming fear that something is simply too good to be true?”

Lifting her head to meet his eyes she crooned, “No.”

“No?” He tucked another pillow beneath his head, to see her without having to hold his head up. “We are at the Maker’s whim. He laid out our paths, and we have always been each other's gift from him.”

“A lovely sentiment I can get behind.” She smiled softly, staring into golden-brown eyes. Her hand wandered to his ear, fingertips brushing the length of it. “What about it being too good to be true?”

“He gives gifts, perhaps even to be taken away for some greater purpose.”

“Oh no.” Nyla chuckled, sitting up and straddling him. “Where are such thoughts coming from, my love? What of growing old together?”

“I never knew I could have my Warden until I had her. A dream buried so deep I could not see it.” He suddenly felt very tearful, looking up at her smiling face. Such a lovely mess with her wild, unmade hair and dark eyes glowing with adoration. Eyes only for him, lips only for him. “You have given me everything, and I did not know I could feel this way.”

“This makes sense, darling,” she whispered with a soft smile. “Love never feels the same twice. I sometimes forget where you came from. I grew up with love, whereas the world had none for you.”

“True, I have loved many in my time without knowing. I loved you for so long and I never saw. I couldn’t see. I saw it only a few months ago for the first time. When my love for you comes to mind, I am still surprised and it just keeps getting bigger. Until I just want to run away, keep you safe and close to me where no harm could come.”

“We can.” Nyla hushed him, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. “We can go back to the forest.”

“Nyla, _no._ That is a terrible idea.” The more he thought about it, the more it perturbed him. “Should they not find us, we would still only have ten years.”

“It might only be ten years, but we will have had ten whole years of peace. Hiding away, living off the land. I was able to get in a lake _by myself_ once. I like to fantasize about swimming. You can teach me to swim.”

“That…” Zevran sighed, quirking an eyebrow, “sounds a lot like giving up.”

“Swimming?” Nyla furrowed her brow, repressing her smile.

“Little shit.” He pinched her side, making her giggle for him. “I can teach you to swim without hiding away.”

“Hiding away was just one option.” She laid the length of her body on his, pressing kisses along his neck and jaw, earning a soft, lusty sigh from him. “We will fight.”

“Make love to me again, amor,” he purred, his hands wandering her body. She looked to her right with a trembling breath and writhing hips. “You and these mirrors.”

“Have you seen us?”

“Mmm…” He turned his head to look. “Oh. Fuck.”

 

*****  
**

 

“Now we are-”

“Almost a full day late, yes. Slow down, Zevran’s thighs are fucking sore.” The streets seemed too still, too empty, and an eerie sensation creeped along the back of his neck; they were up to something.

“Just your thighs?” Nyla purred, holding tight to his arm, leaning toward him to brush her veiled nose to his cheek.

“I wish I could wake oversexed each morning. Nice and limber.” He smiled in remembrance of pressing her knees to the bed on either side of her head. “Zevran’s wife is so deliciously bendy.”

“I love you.” Nyla felt his arm subtly stiffen, and she tsked with a sigh. _Here we fucking go again._

“Very hot out here, amor,” he muttered, his heart fluttering in his chest. He could see them in his periphery. Crows. Disappearing behind corners, a flash of movement on a rooftop; they were letting him see them, trying to make him choose a direction, to herd them toward an ambush. “Very fucking hot.”

“Plan?”

“Hush,” he whispered, facing forward but his eyes flicking around, taking a count of how many he could see dashing around. No good; they were disguising their numbers, the same small, elven man flitting around another corner that he had seen a minute prior. Their pattern became clear the longer they walked briskly on. _Precisely who do they believe they are trifling with?_ He thought with a wry smile. “How do you feel about climbing?”

“Fine.”

“Should we get separated, take refuge with Wynne, but do not lead them there. When I say run, you run with me. When I say turn, you turn. If I bend down and clasp my hands, prepare to be hoisted, yes?”

“Understood,” Nyla nodded.

“No body language, only words. They know we have agreed upon something and suspect we have a plan.”

“Understood.” Nyla felt a twinge of embarrassment, quickly drowned out by the excitement of witnessing him in his element, being a part of it. “Why don’t they just arrow us down?”

“They want you alive, remember?”

The same man, made distinct by his gleaming red hair, Zevran saw three times; first on the roof, then peering from around a corner, and then disappearing around another. Using such distinguishable people; did they expect him to fall for this trap or not?

“Run.”

He bolted, keeping her in his periphery. Counting houses, alleyways, he sprinted. _Three… two…_ Stopping abruptly, he crouched down with his fingers laced in front of himself. Perfection; her foot hit his palms and he stood, all but throwing her. She reached out a hand, which he ignored. Leaping, he caught the edge of the roof with his fingertips, immediately losing his grip. _Too late._

“Run high!” he called out, hoping it were enough.

Nyla scurried upward to the conical peak of the roof and ran, watching him in her periphery. _This is fucked,_ jumping to the next and landing, luckily in perfect balance. She could see Zevran to her left pacing her on the ground. A glance to her right, a red haired man looked up at her with a furrowed brow. With a flick of her wrist, he went down, and she kept running.

Jumping across a wide gap to the next rooftop, arms flailing wildly, she skidded downward, clay shingles clinking and crackling in her wake. Meeting Zevran’s gaze as she stopped, he nodded, bringing her attention to the one running toward her. Clambering back to the roof’s peak, she strode to its edge and crouched down, ready to leap.

“Come on,” she purred, beckoning with both hands. When the Crow drew near enough, Nyla leaped, landing on him with both feet to his chest. With a grunt, Zevran leaped, catching the edge of the low rooftop and hoisting himself up just in time to see his wife snap a man’s neck.

“Very good, amor,” he panted, nodding. “Run.”

“What are we doing?” She spoke breathlessly, chasing after him.

“Anything but what they want!” He called back, leaping onto the next building.

Stopping to make sure she followed, Nyla bounced off of him with a startled grunt. Catching her in his arms to steady her, Zevran held her close, his heart fluttering to see so many dark figures coming around corners, creeping onto rooftops; a dart stuck into her forearm, and Zevran felt an insurmountable rage course through him.

“Down,” she whispered, dropping to her bottom, sliding and turning to grab the edge of the roof, letting herself hang for a moment before dropping; Zevran followed her.

As he hit the ground beside her, he pulled the dart from her arm.

“It didn’t penetrate my skin. The mechanism around my arm blocked it.” she reassured him, eyes flicking around. “Love, we’re surrounded.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I counted fourteen closing in, but the locals have seen enough about to send them into hiding. We must part ways to lose them. Go to Wynne.”

“No, we’re stronger together,” she countered with a glare.

“No, if we scatter, they will have to divide-”

“I go to Wynne, and you go where?” Nyla growled, furrowing her brow, eyes wide as it appeared he had no answer. “Don’t you fucking _dare,_ Zevran, sacrifice yourself for me.”

He held her shoulders and met her eyes. “Nyla, please. If they take you there will be nothing left of you by the time I find you again.”

“Let them take us,” Nyla hissed. “We’ll destroy them from the inside out.”

“No, it won’t work. They will chain us, and they will torment me with your suffering.” He slung his bow from his back. “I have six arrows-” he paused, nocked one, and shot someone just come around a corner. “Five arrows.”

“Five?” She tsked, “What the fuck, Zev?”

“Nice, Nyla.” He nocked another arrow. “We have potentially minutes left together and you use them to chastise me.”

“You have to admit that’s a shamefully low number of arrows to have in a quiver-” she extended her arm, a dagger flying from her sleeve to land in the eye of a man who only crumpled to the ground to scream and clutch his head, causing her to have to talk louder. “A quiver that holds twenty-four. Sorry about the screaming, I forgot to reapply poison.”

“Kind of in the way I forgot to restock on arrows?” He aimed at the figure sliding off the rooftop, hitting him square in the chest.

Reaching into the pouch on her belt, Nyla retrieved two more small blades to reload. “These ones are poisoned, at least. Besides, the one on the ground is _still_ going to die, just slower. Whereas you have nothing but close ranged weapons to make them die and we do not want them close enough to get us with their poisons.”

“So worked up,” he sighed, whipping an arrow from his quiver and firing it just as fast. “How are we to coordinate anything if all you do is use all our time blaming me for being not enough prepared to meet some invisible fucking standard?”

 _“Invisible standard?”_ Nyla spoke frustrated, and a bit of movement in her periphery from above caught her attention. Looking up and leaping high, she grabbed a woman by her hair and dragged her down, slamming her face into the cobblestones several times. “There are things you just know to do before going into battle. Like having sufficient ammunition.”

“And, how exactly, was I supposed to know,” he began calmly with bow drawn, following a dark figure with the tip of his arrow, one eye closed. “That we were going to have such a battle? Since mi amor is the expert.”

“For starters,” she stood aside as he moved with his bow. “The ceremony we just _had_ to have, and then losing an entire day fucking.”

“Two days.” He loosed an arrow. “One day ceremony, one day shopping for fruit and sleeping, two days fucking. Napping. Eating. Best two days of my life.”

“Fucking _two?”_ Nyla leaped past him, using inertia to coldcock the jaw of one with a mean right hook, Nylas small dagger pulled so fast from her boot he wouldn’t have seen it happen had he not known she kept it there; she slammed it into his chest as he hit the ground. “So we gave them _two days_ to gather their troops?”

Yanking the weapon from her dead foe, she turned around a corner and grabbed a Crow by the collar, dropped to her back, flinging him over herself with with a push of her legs. From Zevran’s vantage point, all he saw was a poor man fly, and Nyla roar and leap atop him, slicing his throat without a second thought.

He chuckled, passively loosing an arrow at a form in the distance dropping from above.

“Zev, we left so many dead as a fucking calling card, informing them of our location, how exactly is this a fucking surprise?” Flinging her arm, she growled, “I fucking missed!” She flung her other, and Zevran turned to see a Crow hit the ground. “Dodging son of a bitch.”

“Here we go,” Zevran chuckled. “Time for close combat.”

“Nope,” Nyla jumped, grabbing onto the edge of the roof and trying to hoist herself. “Fuck,” she hung lamely for a few moments and dropped. “Fine.”

“Here,” Zevran laced his fingers, and she jumped as he lifted. Following, he pulled himself onto the roof with little effort. “You’re adorable. Come this way.”

Sliding down the other side of the roof, they tucked and rolled as they landed, and she followed Zevran around the building. As they stood between two buildings with backs against the wall, Nyla reloaded with small, poisoned blades at her wrists.

“Throwing these things is too hard, I need to modify it.” Nyla panted, rolling her shoulders. “What now?”

He smiled, shrugged, and leaned more comfortably against the wall with one foot flat against it, arms folded across his chest. “Stand around and look ridiculously awesome.”

“Oh, fine. Yes. Exactly the thing to do in a crisis.” Nyla smirked, leaned back against the wall, crossing her ankles. Wrapping one arm around her waist, she pulled a coin from her pouch and began flipping it, catching it, and flipping again. “Is this sufficient?”

“Very nice,” Zevran purred, playing scenario after scenario in his mind of how to get them out of this. _Twelve down, some fourteen sighted, actual number undetermined. They seemed to have pulled back, they are regrouping, they already have us cornered…_ “Amor, if we separate now-”

“Nope.”

“Bah. I would see you in half an hour.”

“Fuck off, darling,” she spoke in a sing-song voice, continuing the rhythmic flipping of her coin, which kept her more calm and focused.

“If my thoughts are correct, they have surrounded us. We will have to fight, likely forced to separate anyhow. Unintentional separation could lead to disaster, planned separation would give us the upper hand.”

“What if they want us separated?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, hearing the scrape of a boot on cobblestones. “If that is the case, they will believe we are playing into their hand.”

 _“We would be,”_ Nyla hissed, catching her coin and putting it away, furrowing her brow and staring hard at him.

“No, they would be playing into ours,” he giggled, shaking his head. “You are not getting it.”

“No.” She pointed at him and continued, “You have no idea how to play with others.”

Hearing slow footsteps approach, Nyla reached into the pouch on her hip and pulled out a brown block, small enough to fit in her palm.

“Hold this, darling.”

“What is it?”

“Sugar, among other things,” she whispered, reaching into another pouch and retrieving a spool. “Adhesive gaatlok,” she whispered, carefully tearing off and wrapping the block in her paper tape with hurried hands. Pulling him close, she wrapped her arms around his neck and crooned close to his ear, “I call it a gaatlok block. It makes smoke. A lot of it.”

“The rest of us call it a smoke bomb,” he whispered.

“It’s different. It is a noxious fume,” Nyla continued, speaking faster as two dropped from above. “It is fast, loud. Squint your eyes, do not breathe.” Three slinked around the corner with stares of varying degrees of satisfaction. “Lift me after you throw it. Throw it hard.”

Meeting each other's eyes for a deep breath, Zevran threw Nyla’s special toy and it went off with a loud crack, throwing a dense grey cloud. Bending down, he grabbed Nyla’s calf and she lifted her leg, he pressed on her heel and hoisted her.

Jumping straight up, his hands met nothing, his eyes watered, he needed to breathe, several people around him hacked and coughed. The block continued to hiss and spew smoke, stinging his eyes and nose. He jumped again, and his hand brushed along what felt like the narrow arm of his wife, as if he wouldn’t pull her down if he grabbed her. _Fucking shit, Nyla, fucking RUN!_

Discovering she wouldn’t leave without him, his sense of desperation increased. Pressing his back against the wall, he leaped at the wall across from him, bounded off of it, and he reached, arms slapping along a horizontal surface.

Someone grabbed his arms and pulled hard, and he wasn’t sure yet how fucked he was until he heard her voice.

“Zevran?” Nyla rasped.

“Si!” he replied, the need to inhale making his voice but a mere squeak.  
  
Holding him until he stood, she guided him along the roof. Smoke surrounded them, and regardless of whether Zevran wanted to, he had to breathe. Gasping a mouthful of noxious smoke, immediate chest-wracking coughs followed and he stumbled, wavering on his feet. Before he had a chance to gather his bearings, Nyla yanked his arm, rolled him across her back, flinging him onto the next roof.

Dragging himself up, he coughed, trying to wave away the smoke which had become less dense. _“Nyla!”_ He called out to her, but he swore he could hear the sound of her voice beneath his, as if she called out at the same time. Breathing shallow breaths, he waited, coughed as silently as he could, counted the seconds until he heard the grunt and smack of a body hitting the cobblestones. Had she not jumped into his arms a moment later, he would have grown terrified.

Clinging to each other they stumbled along, eyes watering, smoke gone, they slid down to the ground together and Zevran pulled her along into a narrow alleyway where they stopped and gasped for air. Nyla blinked watery eyes and glanced around to see a startled looking Crow round the corner at a full sprint, then turn away from them to flee. She aimed blindly, flicking both wrists and missing her target.

With a frustrated growl, Nyla moved to pursue and Zevran grabbed her arm and choked out, _“No.”_

Looking back at Zevran, he shook his head. Having a veil covering her nose and mouth protected her, and she ached in seeing him suffer. Coughing, hitting his chest with his fist and gasping for air, he nodded in the opposite direction. “Lead.”

How good it felt to Zevran to have lungs full of clean air despite how tight they felt in the wake of such abuses. Watering eyes slowly cleared, and he followed her through the labyrinth of Nevarran backstreets. West, he gathered, toward the Mage’s college. _Very good, lovely wife._

“Feeling better?” She looked back, her eyes smiling.

“Si,” he croaked, clearing his throat. “Easier to breathe.”

“Good, let’s run. We’re nearing Wynne’s, I can see it sometimes through the gaps of the rooftops.” She glanced back, to see his smile. “That was good though, yes?”

“I am aroused by how amazing it was.” He cleared his throat, sniffled, and jogged alongside her, smiling as she continued her excited chatter.

“I had only ever tested it a wide open space, it made a big cloud that blew away. And here, in a somewhat enclosed space, the fucking thing smoked out a full city block. Perhaps half a one next time. I can cut it. It’s harmless if you don’t wrap it in th-” She shrieked, rebounding off of someone rounding the corner. Nyla stumbled backward.

“I’ve got it,” he sighed, grabbing the stunned, unarmed fool around his throat. “I have a few questions, if I may.”

“No,” the elven man spat, so Zevran reached around him and snapped his neck.

“As you wish.” Zevran shrugged and let him flop to the ground. “You know, it occurs to me, people just do not understand how easily they can be made dead. Or how willing I am to make it happen.”

“Zevran,” Nyla panted, writhing with a groan, her hands clutching the hilt of a blade. “I’m... accidentally stabbed.”

“Braska,” he hissed, rushing to her and pulling off his mask. “Accidentally fucking stabbed.” Trying to pull her hand from the blade, she wouldn’t let go, her face contorted as she gasped in pain and panic. “Let go, Nyla. _Let go!”_

Willing her hands from her middle on fire, Nyla straightened her arms stiff at her sides, hands balling into fists as shocks of pain went through her, making her nearly lose consciousness. Through teary eyes she focused on his relaxed stare while he assessed her injury.

He hardened his heart and scooped her up, ignoring her yelp and pained, trembling breaths. “If you feel you will faint, do not fight it.”

“Why?” She gasped, unsure what to do with the pain apart from writhe.

“Breathe,” he spoke softly. “No need to hurt. Best if you are not awake for this.”

“I’m afraid.” Nyla wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, hold him closer.

“You will live, mi amor,” he crooned.

“I want to,” she wept, feeling a sickening fire build within her. “Poison.”

“I have you,” he whispered, his heart quivering in his chest.

“Zev, marrying you-” she swallowed, air catching in her throat with a shudder. _I’m not dying._

“Don’t you dare say goodbye to me, Nyla,” he whispered. “I have you.”

She said nothing, and he let out a sigh of relief, continuing his run. _So close,_ he could see the same threshold he’d carried her across twice before. What would happen, he wondered, if Wynne didn’t happen to meet him again at the door? He strode through the familiar entryway, on a path toward her quarters.

“Excuse me,” a man in robes jogged alongside him. “The healing wing is this way.”

“If you believe I am going to follow a strange man into unfamiliar territory you are fucking mistaken,” Zevran spat, walking past the stone mabari fountain and through a tunnel of arbor blessing, as he had done twice before. “I will see only Wynne.”

“I will find her and bring her to the healing wing. You are leaving an unsightly trail of blood through our-” he began firmly, and Zevran stopped to turn and headbutt him.

Wynne stepped out of her room in hearing the scuffle. She absently waved a hand, sending healing magic to the poor man on the floor clutching his head. “Zevran! What happened to Ian?”

“Who the fuck is _Ian,_ Wynne who fucking cares about Ian!?” He spoke incredulously with wide eyes.

“Come on.” She walked briskly toward her room. “Don’t panic.”

“Zevran does not even know _how_ to fucking panic.” Something about being close to Wynne brought relief to his heart. The familiarity of her, knowing she would make everything right again, he felt he might cry. She held the door open to her quarters.

“Lay her on the floor. Don’t want to soak the bed and leave her without somewhere dry and warm to rest afterward,” she spoke calmly.

Zevran relaxed in hearing her confident tone; he laid his pale and cold wife on the floor.

“Remove the blade,” Wynne commanded coolly, throwing him a towel and then turning to rifle through her cupboards. “And then her armor.”

Clenching his jaw, his lips pursed and quivered, Zevran took off his bloodied gloves, grabbed the hilt. Blood flowed as he pulled the blade from her, and he applied pressure with the towel. The blade was longer than he imagined; no wonder she had been in such pain.

“No pressure, that’s just to catch the blood.” Wynne stood over him for a moment. “Tainted blood... doesn’t it look odd to you?”

“What?” He furrowed his brow, staring at her with wide eyes, his heart pounding in his ears.

“It has a… blackness to it. And a strange scent,” she spoke absently. “No matter. I'm just musing. Undress her.”

“Letting her bleed out serves what purpose?” He asked, lifting Nyla’s arms to reach the buckles of her chestplate.

“Poison in her blood. Perhaps... unburdening her of some would... make recovery a little more… possible.”

Zevran trembled, the wind knocked from him. “Wynne, I was not so afraid before you said that.”

“Well… you make it too hard to sugar coat everything with your questions. I’m only human.”

“Since when do I need to hear sugared words?”

“Since right now,” Wynne replied with patience, crushing her herbs with hurried movements. “Don’t worry, she’s doing well.”

“Stop giving me sugared words and just make her stop dying, Wynne, what the _fuck?”_ Sometimes, he knew exactly why Nyla wanted to coldcock this old woman. Nyla’s breastplate slipped away from his blood soaked fingers and he pulled at the hem of her leathers.

“Keep stripping her. You’re being very helpful.”  
  
Even as he knew Wynne used specific words to calm him, they still worked. He pulled off her gloves, boots, everything, all the way down to her smalls, and when he looked at her side, the wound had been closed. Before he had a chance to run a hand over her newly healed skin, Wynne knelt by her, holding up a clear glass bottle of powdered herbs in water between two fingertips.

“Watch.” The contents of the vial bubbled, turning a deep brown and nearly spilling over, followed by a puff of steam as it rested, turning a soft green. “It’s all about heating and cooling, isn’t it? More fascinating than magic, if you ask me.”

She reached to tilt Nyla’s head back, and Zevran helped her, having ample experience in forcing elixirs down a comatose woman’s throat. She was too cold, there was no steady beat of her warm heart as he touched her neck.

“Wynne?” He spoke with a quivering voice.

“Grab that bottle over there.” She gestured, and he hurried toward it, hearing the snap of electric magic as he turned his back. Looking back at her with his questioning stare she smiled with a satisfied nod. “Have a drink, dear.”

Sitting across from Wynne on the opposite side of his wife, he uncorked the bottle and took a long draw. A small pleasure; warmth on his tongue, spreading through his chest.

“Thank you, Wynne,” he sighed deeply. “That is better.”

They cleaned Nyla and settled her snug in Wynne’s bed, added wood to the fire and extra blankets on her. They looked down on Nyla for a few moments, standing side by side.

“Care to take a seat and indulge an old woman in a story?” Wynne sighed, stepping away to pour them each a stiff drink.

He sat on her couch, feeling the absence of Nyla’s warmth beside him. “Her luck is the opposite of mine.”

“Her luck?” Wynne sipped her drink, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other.

“She fights hard, can kill a man before he ever has a chance to see her.” Running a hand over his hair, he felt so heavy and dark. “She killed eight men to my five and then gets accidentally stabbed rounding a fucking corner. Her luck is the opposite of mine.”

“But there’s more, hmm?” Wynne leaned forward. “What’s going on? Why did she have to kill eight men?”

“Crows.”  
  
“Still?” Wynne tilted her head at him. “After all these years?”

“To catch me would mean a great deal of notoriety for a house.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Every house competing for the same trophy. That’s all it is.” Zevran closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “Life, love, is meaningless. It’s all about money and power.”

“Why not kill you?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “They are, I think, wanting to make a show of my suffering.”

“At the expense of so many men?”

“Life is _meaningless_ to them,” Zevran insisted.

“Surely they only have so many-”

“From the outside, the life of a Crow looks to be a glamorous one. There are applicants, they buy children in lots every day.” He shook his head with an upwelling of anger. “Every day they come of age, and every day they send them out to die.”

Wynne sighed, setting her glass down. “And what do you intend to do?”

“Before I found her, I had killed many Crows. Killed their masters, freed their children, and it has done little more than enrage them.” Scrubbing his face with his palms he sighed, feeling fatigued. “I do not know what to do, Wynne.”

“Can I do anything?” Wynne asked.

Zevran nodded, nibbling a quivering lip with tears in his eyes. “I thought being near me, she would have my luck... I am inheriting hers.”

“It goes both ways,” she spoke softly.

“Even if I leave her behind?”


	10. Rialto

“Zev?”

Nyla stretched, sighed, sat up in bed. So parched, so hungry, she looked over to the bedside table, and snatched up the glass of water. Plenty of food by the bed. Fresh fruit, nuts, cheese, dried, shredded meat, Nyla ate ravenously, moving the covers to see if she had been scarred; she tsked with the disappointment of discovering flawless skin. Born noble, always adventuring with a healer chasing her around, when would she get to have a scar? Not the superficial ones she had scattered over her body; a _good_ one - but not on her face.

With food and water in her belly, her mind cleared. She sighed, looked around the room. Stained glass windows confused one of the time. It was day, and she wondered when he would be back. Pausing with a half-eaten ziziphus hovering in front of her wide open mouth, her heart leaped into her throat. She set the fruit back on its tray.

_  
“I love you.” He kissed her fingers, tears dripping down the back of her hand. She smiled with a soft sigh, squinting in the light gleaming in his golden hair._

  
Eyebrows scrunched, Nyla trembled, wide eyes surveyed the room for any sign of him. Anything to prove it had just been a dream… a pack or a piece of armor… she saw nothing.

 _  
“You are very pretty, Nyla. Eres preciosa.”_ _He stroked her hair, sniffled, leaned in for just one more kiss. “I will come back for you, esposa.”_

  
Pressing a palm to her heart, she stared in awe at the space around her. Heart breaking, lips quivering; Zevran, her husband, had left her behind, and she never thought he would. The creaking hinges of the door caught her attention.

“Wynne?” Nyla, wearing only her smalls, pulled a blanket to cover herself. “Is he gone?”

“He stayed a few days. Left yesterday afternoon after he was sure you were well,” Wynne replied with a furrowed brow. “All those prattling on about emotional and reactive women need to meet that man.”

Nyla nodded with a tearful chuckle. “Does he expect me not to follow him?”

“He asked me to keep you here. I said you may stay here until his return.”

“Fool man,” she whispered, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand with a sniffle. “Did he leave a message for me?”

“He did.” Wynne approached Nyla with a parcel in her arms. “And I had your leathers repaired for you.”

“What did he say?” Nyla asked softly. Curling her lips inward, her shoulders shook for a few moments of silent tears before she steadied herself.

“Fiona is waiting to see you. He wants you to speak with her and then try to find something useful in the library. For your cure.”

Nyla sniffled, dragging herself from the bed, pulling at the strings around the brown paper containing her armor. “I can’t sit here and hope my fool husband succeeds in picking off every Crow one at a time.”

“I know,” Wynne crooned. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“No,” Nyla replied breathlessly, continuing as she dressed. “He’s afraid, Wynne. Had I been awake to speak with him, he wouldn’t have behaved so impulsively.”

 

*******

 

Leaving his wife behind had felt wrong, continued to feel wrong, and so much harder than he had imagined. He fucking _missed_ her, expecting to see her to his left each time he looked. He never wanted to sleep apart from her for the rest of his days; a mere five nights after wedding her, he was alone on a bedroll aching from her absence. He considered going back and swearing to never leave again, but no. This was necessary.

How could he do this with someone on his heel? A constant eye behind himself to be sure she followed, meanwhile looking ahead to be sure they weren’t seen; he didn’t have enough eyes or knives… he was only one man. He couldn’t fight the world and protect her from it at the same time.

Just a day ago she was within reach, and he kissed her soft lips, petted her, committed her scent to memory, the tender brush of his nose against hers. Not one moment wasted, and he needed more of them desperately. Why was he so surprised? The moment he met her his life was ruined, infinitely more beautiful, and for fucks sake, _he had her..._ and that was why he left.

As he traveled onward, Zevran wondered how many times had he laughed at one weeping over a lost love. Clinging to the dead, their faces contorted with pained wails which fell on deaf ears. Zevran had been so cruel, so unsympathetic, and he looked at his own desire to weep knowing himself to be a monster; this was a near intolerable pain.

Was it the Maker’s will he should hold her to his chest time and time again, helpless and praying for just one more moment with her? Was this recompense for his transgressions?

 _No._ This would not be his fate. Better to take the hurt to Antiva, make them pay for what they had done, and stop them doing it again. How? One master at a time. One house at a time, reducing them to nothing. Again and again, for as long as it fucking took.

What would Antiva do without their Crows? _Who fucking cares?  
_

 

*******

 

A gift from Wynne which would please Zevran to no end; a black cloak. Time would not be wasted slinking through back streets. Walking briskly toward the stables, the cloak fluttered around Nyla’s ankles, hiding her as kept an eye out for danger, doubting she would notice it lest it charged straight toward her with weapons drawn.

“Keep the saddle,” she spoke softly from behind her veil, and the horsemaster wouldn’t take her coin.

It made sense; she had a fine saddle. A frivolous thing to slow her down, only there to secure the packs she would not be hauling. With naught but food and a few essentials in the pack beneath her cloak, she sped from the stables, reins in hand, a map held tight in her fist. Every path marked, every camp planned; an itinerary they had created before they even left Ferelden, for her benefit, as he already knew the way. Zevran must have believed the day-long head start would deter her, or he would have taken their map. Maker willing, he followed their predetermined path and she would catch him.

Fifteen minutes of galloping, ten minutes trotting, a pattern repeated until dusk when Horse began to exhaust. Nyla dismounted and walked alongside her. She would gain ground on him quickly; whether it be on the road or in the bedroom, he couldn’t outlast a Warden.

Why he wanted to fight alone remained abundantly clear; to preserve the gift life had offered him. Someone who loved him, to be protected at all costs.

Nyla’s husband, miracle that he was, saw abundance everywhere he looked, a habit borne by a heart starved. Nyla knew pain and longed for happiness, Zevran only sought less pain, and never expected it; a way of being so ingrained within him, he didn’t even know it was there.

Of course he was afraid. Of course he made choices he thought would preserve his only source of real happiness.

She spent the Blight with him, pulling him apart, clawing his wounds open with her attention and care, displaying love, taunting him with nourishment sorely needed and then leaving him lonely and aching. Neglecting him for so many years would always remain a sore spot in her heart, one she would sooth with relentless expression of her love. He believed she would allow him to fight alone, and it only proved he didn’t yet understand.

Antiva would take six days on horseback. He had a day’s head start. She had five days.

 

*******

 

On the second night, sleep would not come, so Zevran sung a soft tune for her. She may not have been there to hear, but it comforted him to imagine she felt him calling out to her. It helped to quell the loneliness, and if he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could almost feel her near.

He couldn’t fool himself of her presence for long; if she were near, she would have touched him. Lips on the back of his neck, hands in his hair, gentle caresses on his shoulders, nibbling his jaw, curling her toes against the tops of his feet. The brush of her nose against his, always followed up by a tender smile. The way she would hold him in her arms on a whim. The way she rested so peacefully wrapped in his.

A harsh realization; in his journey to ending their problem, he had no way of knowing how she fared. She had to be feeling equal loneliness, equal longing. He had left her alone. _To save her._

The rationale did nothing to sooth the ache, it only served to twist his heart in beholding the tragedy of it; in order to have her, he couldn’t _have her.  
_

 

*******

 

On the third night, Nyla stopped at what looked like scattered remnants of a campsite; a campsite they should have shared. How fucking hard did she have to travel to catch up with him? At least she knew she hadn’t passed him up. Hit with a sense of urgency, she tried to move on, but Horse would not budge, stubbornly demanding rest.

“Come on, Horse,” she sighed, dismounting. “I’ll walk beside you.”

Horse shook her head, the reins pulled from Nyla’s grasp.

“Really? I’ve outlasted a fucking horse.” She growled, paced the campsite, then laid on a flattened patch of grass, imagining this was where he had slept. “You’re probably right, Horse,” she huffed, tucking her pack beneath her head.

Nyla couldn’t be frustrated or angry with Zevran. How could she when all he ever wanted was to do right by her? There was an innocence to him, in the way he remained inexperienced in the ways of love and partnership, and still tried.

A slap in the face, realizing he couldn’t trust her completely. She _wanted_ complete trust, but how could she expect it of him when he had little sense of where trust should be offered? Nyla had a lifetime of learning the nuances of where others fit in her life. She knew how to have friends, how to help and how to ask for it; how to partner.

Zevran knew only how to survive alone and never learned to thrive with another; _he thrived alone._ She had offered him more than he knew how to handle, and Nyla wept into her hands in realizing it. While the thought brought her grief, they had their lifetimes to learn together. She would show him. Over and over, one interaction at a time. One loving gesture at a time. One instance of coming through for him at a time. He would thrive. She would show him.

Heart slowing, body resting, a sudden bout of fear and frustration washed over her and she curled her fists into the grass. _Why did he fucking think he could take down the entire House of Crows?_ Sneaking around Antiva in the shadows, killing one at a time. If he wanted to return to her soon, he would have to kill thousands per fucking _day._ _Poor, desperate fool of a man!_ She pulled a fistful of grass and threw it, weeping silently as she looked at the night sky.

The Crows were a military force. Thousands upon thousands. Eight Talons, countless houses beneath them. So many Crows there was no way to count them, and if Zevran had put any thought into this at all, he would know the only reasonable way to stop the Crows from pursuing them would be to become one of them. Become Talon.

Nyla sat up with a startled intake of air. _He should become one of them!_ Imagine all the good he could do! Stop them from tormenting children, rule with compassion... _Zevran would do things right!_

“Maker, damn it, Horse!” She huffed, laying back down. Knowing they needed rest, she had no rational arguments, and even if she did, she would be speaking to a horse. _“Damn it!”  
_

 

*******

 

On the fourth night, Zevran remembered and settled into what it was like to travel alone. The silence, getting lost in one’s head, the boredom. Loneliness.

He occupied his thoughts with her. Maker, what did he used to think about before he had a Nyla? _Fuck._ Who was he kidding? Even before he had her, she was on the forefront of his mind; tracking, chasing, killing. From the day he met her, his thoughts hadn’t left her. She was his sole focus throughout the Blight. _Protect her. Save her. Know her._ Even after the blight, wandering city streets throughout Thedas. How would the Warden look in red? Would she enjoy this cheese? This wine? This fruit? Would she complain of the heat the way he whined incessantly about the cold? He still hadn’t shown her the sparkling jewel that was Antiva.

Maker’s breath, she better not have followed him. Likely she was still recovering, a vague awareness of his absence. Oblivious of his goodbye, she smiled, drifting in and out of consciousness, humming sweetly from his kisses, brushing her gentle fingers along the tears on his cheeks. Maker willing, she would remember his heartfelt goodbye.

 

*******

 

On the fifth day, Nyla trotted along the coast of Antiva, her map showing herself to be in the city of Bastion. Having seen several travelers on horseback, she lost any hope of finding a trail. Easy to find a trail of one on horseback in Ferelden, given how uncommon they were. In the northern states, horses were apparently as common as dogs in Ferelden.

“Alright, horse.” Nyla dismounted and took a moment to rub Horse's forehead. “I feel you tiring out on me. I’ll give you a break.”

Walking along, she threw her cloak aside, retrieved her ration, and slung her pack back in place. A shame, she thought, that Zevran wasn’t there to point out the places he had been. She sorely wanted to hear of his memories, hear his stories, hold him when they became heavy, smile in understanding when he laughed at his own tragic tales.

Being without him made her feel gratitude for the time she had him. Oh, how he fawned over her, claiming he knew nothing of love. His sense of humor so fine tuned, it often took her long moments of thought to get the nuances of how hilarious something had been; layers of the joke unfolding as she laughed, making her laugh harder. Nyla smiled, remembering his certain look of expectation as he waited for her to get it, the satisfied smile when she did.

She could see the water from the streets of Salle, and in the distance she could see an island. Llomerynn, according to her map. Throwing her cloak aside, she put back half of her ration to save. Food had become scarce, and she didn’t want to take the time to find a market.

“Where is your Shadow, Swan?” A masculine voice purred.

A rough hand landed on the back of her neck, and she grabbed his wrist and turned. The only sound that came from him was the snap of his wrist. Nyla stood behind him, his arm bent and pressed against his back, she flicked her wrist; enough to expose a dagger without throwing it.

“The Shadow is _mine,”_ she growled close to his ear, teeth bared. Rage surged through her, and with great satisfaction, she dragged her blade hard across his throat.

Letting his body hit the ground, she ignored the gasps of passersby. Stepping unceremoniously over the dead, Nyla continued on, closing her cloak to hide the emblem on her chestplate. Foolish of her to forget she wore a fucking shining label. She had been sighted, she had killed in the middle of a city, and that couldn’t be good. Grasping Horse by the mane, Nyla hopped from her left foot and swung her right leg over Horse’s back.

Tapping Horse with her heels twice, they barreled through the streets, out of the city, and back onto the coast, galloping along the sea cliffs.

“Maker’s breath,” she whispered with a smile, eyes wide in beholding the beauty of the sun sparkling on a bright blue sea.

She had only ever seen the cold, grey waters of Ferelden. Maker, she would have spent a lifetime swimming if it looked like this. Looking out, she could see the south end of Rivain, a mere speck in the distance. Nyla smiled; she had entered Rialto, birthplace of her beloved.

“Zevran…” She looked to her right and a little behind. Her smile faltered and chest ached; there was no Zevran, only a cloud of dust containing some ten on horseback in the distance. She ran harder, reaching behind herself and into her pack to prepare a gaatlok block.

 

*******

 

Zevran knew it would only be a matter of time before he had been overrun… he hadn’t expected it to be the moment he entered Rialto. They must have had warning of his coming; they had never shown up in such force, and so prepared.

Knocked from his mount by another on horseback, his mouth bloodied and right arm sore, he stood with blades drawn, heart pounding. Surrounded. A half circle of some twelve Crows before him with bows drawn, the cliff’s edge not fifteen feet behind him. A woman approached, long dark hair, bright blue eyes, a slanted scar across her lips; she stood tall with daggers ready.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Black Shadow. Master Ghita, at your service.” A woman purred in Antivan, taunting with a flourishing bow. “Have you lost your Swan?”

He said nothing, only glowered, weighing his options. There were, after all, only twelve. _Bows,_ though. Bows were a problem.

“Has she died, perhaps?” She smirked, tilting her head at him. “Accidentally stabbed?”

He clenched his jaw and glared, with a strong want for her blood on his hands.

“Do you imagine we have taken eyes off of you, Zevran Arainai?” Ghita crooned, pointing a dagger at him. “Have you come to take your revenge?”

Ghita took a few steps closer; she was being cocky, and Zevran was a patient man. And still alive; why?

“So silent,” she stepped a little closer, taunting him with her tone and her smile. “Is the Shadow lost in his grief?”

“What do you want?” Zevran glowered.

“Ohh… he _sounds_ pretty, too. My preference is to have you alive.” She shrugged, and continued, flashing her canines, “But your head will do.”

“Someone comes!” A voice rang out, and all but the Master Ghita turned their heads.

“Choose now, Shadow. You, or your head, are coming back to Antiva City.” She scowled, stepping closer; her fatal mistake.

 

*****  
**

 

Nyla recognized him in the distance, the outline of his mask perched atop his head, a wide circle of Crows around him. She held a gaatlok block tight in her fist, and with a snarl, gave Horse an encouraging hollar. Her veil flapped against her skin, cloak fluttering behind her; she stared hard at Zevran, saw him dash forward. It seemed he had a hostage, and for some reason the Crows gave a shit about that, as they set their weapons on the ground.

Nyla drew closer, arm held up, and then Zevran saw his wife, chased by her own dozen or so of Crows. Chestplate gleaming in the sun, veil fluttering; she had finally got a fucking cloak which floated glamorously in her wake. Beautiful, but an unfortunate, momentary distraction which afforded the Master Ghita enough time to throw him over her head and scramble for her weapons.

With Nyla nearly upon them, he saw her arm held up, he knew precisely what she was up to, and he smiled. Zevran took a deep breath as she let the block fly, and it burst with a loud crack and a cloud of smoke. Nyla, still barreling toward him, leaned down with arm extended.

Zevran stood, reached for her, had a firm grasp on her arm. She pulled, he swung a leg up on the horse's back, someone grabbed his cloak. It all seemed to happen so slowly. Horse rearing back, sending them both tumbling into the smoke and throngs of scrambling, coughing Crows. He stood, Nyla’s back against his, he wrapped his cloak around his face and squinted, the smoke dispersing more quickly than it had in the narrow city streets.

They had their window. The window had closed. Through watering eyes, Zevran couldn’t see his weapons, or any other. They were fucked, and they found each other’s hands to hold as they stood surrounded, back to back, with sharp things pointed from every direction; what was left of the gaatlok block kicked and sent sailing off of the sea cliff’s edge.

“Impressive, Swan,” Ghita panted, flipping her hair from her face. “Kill her, tie him.”

“No!” Zevran spoke quickly, squeezing tight to Nyla’s hands. “Set her free, and I will be your willing slave, Master Ghita.”

Nyla’s heart beat hard in her chest. It couldn’t end like this; he had to have some better plan. She kept her mouth shut, pursed her lips, clenched her jaw, swallowed lest she weep at the tender brushing of his thumb along her fingers.

“Hmm…” Ghita stared at him for a moment, pacing through the throngs of Crows surrounding them. Meeting his eyes with a bow of her head she spoke, “Tie him, release her when we are beyond sight.”

Their fingers pulled apart, Nyla’s fists tight at her sides as three blades pressed against the bare skin of her neck; one at each side, one at the base of her skull, leaving her reluctant to swallow.

“Turn her around. Let her watch.” Ghita smirked, eyes raking over Zevran as they tied a rope tight around his torso, and wrapped him.

Nyla turned around slowly, blades tracing her every movement, refusing to flinch as one nicked her skin. She met his gaze, golden-brown eyes, soft, and resolute.

“Don’t come for me, esposa,” he spoke, betraying nothing of the hurt that twisted at his gut.

“You, former Crow, _married_ this woman?” Ghita chuckled, shaking her head. “You know better.”

Zevran held Nyla’s gaze and spoke softly, “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Nyla croaked, trembling; surely he knew it was a lie. She flexed her fingers, teeth clenched, watching them tie off the rope wrapped around him from shoulder to waist.

“Te amo, Nyla.”

“I love you,” she responded breathlessly. “Always.”

Ghita held the rope as one would a leash and pulled on it. “Come. We leave now. Toss the Swan in the water where she belongs, hmm?”

 _“No!”_ Zevran pulled against the rope, moving toward his wife as they grabbed her arms. “Lying _bitch,_ this is not our way!”

“Heel, slave,” Gita snarled, jerking the rope, sending him tumbling backward. “I am not foolish enough to believe she wouldn’t come for you.”

“This isn’t over!” Nyla bellowed, feet scrambling in the dust for purchase, fighting their grasp to no avail. “I love you!”

“No!” He tried to stand, settling on his knees, struggling fruitlessly against the ropes binding him. _“No!”_

“I love you. I will find you.” Nyla stopped thrashing, and her veil slipped away, caught in the wind to land in Ghita’s grasp. Meeting his eyes she repeated, “Zevran, I love you.”

“Wait!” Ghita called out, taking a step forward.

 _“Nyla!”_ He shouted, long and loud, getting a final glimpse of the woman who had the gall to marry him; her lips parted, eyes soft and afraid, fixated on him as they dropped her off the sea cliff. Even if she survived the fall, she couldn’t swim, anyway. Staring at the blue sky, all grew silent apart from the sound of the sea, gulls flying overhead, the wind in his ears. He whispered her name to the sky, closing his eyes tight. _Maker, why have you forsaken us?_

“Who was the Swan?” Ghita knelt in front of him and snarled, “Was she the fucking Hero?”

He could only nod. He felt nothing.

“There are few good women in the world, slave, and you let me kill one of them.” She kicked him in the chest, knocking him over. “Get up, you piece of shit.”

 

_Wind in her ears, she curled up small, eyes shut tight._

_Maker, this can’t be how it ends._

_Maker, let me save him._

_Please, I can save him._

_Let me-_

 


	11. Hope

Horse reacted more than he; the poor beast stomping, snorting, pawing at where Nyla stood only moments ago. Crows tugged at Horse’s reins and she pulled against them, startled and searching for her mistress.

In witnessing the creature's confusion, Zevran felt his grief more keenly, and he looked away to stare at the back of his new Master.

After an uncomfortable ride strewn across the back of a horse, the Master Ghita paraded him through Antiva City. People were silent apart from the occasional whisper, and he kept his head held high and eyes forward, as there was nothing worth seeing.

The House of Crows wanted to see his end; they won the battle, they won the war, and there was nothing left of him to care.

As they approached the house of Master Ghita, she took his cloak, placing it on a pike to display at the entrance to her grounds. He chanced to glance back at it, tattered ends flapping in the breeze, crow skull standing more proudly than he could. It stung for a moment, and he felt nothing.

“You,” Master Ghita pointed, “and you. If anyone touches this, break their arms.”

 

*******

 

_Body shattered on impact. Blue, sunlit water became dark blue, became grey... the need for breath wracked through her, and water drew into her twitching form. Bubbles drifted upwards from her nose and open mouth._

 

_“Let me save him.”_

_“Cousland.”_

_“Please, let me save him. I can save him.”_

_“I feel you, Cousland,” she crooned, and then she showed herself. White, soft, light. She took the pain away. “Poor, sweet quickling.”_

_“Let me save him,” Nyla pleaded, and the warm light surrounded her. A gentle, comforting presence. “What are we?”_

_“Hope.”_

 

Vaguely aware of floating upward, of soft sand beneath her as she washed ashore, Nyla writhed as bones mended and snapped back into place, skin knitted back together. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn't comfortable.

_That’s wrong, Cousland. Get rid of it._

Water purged from her, lungs shrinking as pressure released. With a painful first breath, her back arched, gloved hands clawed at the metal adorning her chest. The second breath came a little easier, though her skin tingled and prickled painfully.

Hours passed. Breathing, feeling, staring at fluffy white clouds in a blue sky. With eyes heavy and tired, she sat up and grasped her ear, feeling her earring in its place where it belonged. A small blessing which made her smile, and she chuckled, realizing herself to be more like Wynne than she ever wanted to be. Years ago, during the blight, Wynne claimed to be on borrowed time with a weakened spirit within her. _How much time am I borrowing?_ Nyla wondered, crawling toward the cliffside to curl on her side and rest in the shade. _Enough time to save him.  
_

 

*******

 

Washed and then dressed in a blue silk shirt and black leather pants, hair styled, decorated as one would a prized mistress, all endured under the watchful stare of eight armed guards; had he the capacity to feel humiliated, he may have. He should have fought, despite the odds. He may have won or lost, either way the torment would be over; it simply did not occur to him at the time. _Next time._

In the main hall of the House Vescovi, soon-to-be Grandmaster Ghita Vescovi displayed him in a tall cage barely wide enough to sit, like a pet bird; pretty to look at. People came and went, the news of his captivity spreading fast. Some merely looked and moved on; those who had been inconvenienced by his actions had more to say. Zevran didn’t listen. He didn’t care, too busy avoiding thoughts of his wife who had died that morning; this was something he absolutely didn't want to feel.

As the hours passed and the sun set, the doors locked, leaving him under the watch of six guards, and subject to Master Ghita’s torment. 

“You look pretty, for a man,” Ghita ran a hand along the bars as she circled his cage. “Tell me about her. Your Swan.”

He kept his eyes downcast, having no desire to tell her, though several painful answers came to mind. _She_   _knew me. She loved me. She was my treasure._

“You can do as I say,” Ghita spoke coolly, continuing with a sigh, “or you can bore me and be executed.”

“Do it,” Zevran muttered. “You will get no satisfaction from me.”

“You would rather die?” Ghita laughed. “Then you will live forever in this cage, boy.”

“To what purpose?” Zevran asked, glaring at her.

“I need to see you suffer,” she snapped. “What else would I do? Torture you? What good would it do to torture one trained in pain tolerance? I wouldn’t honor you with the distraction.”

Zevran smiled, tilting his head at her, “I cannot help noticing this is quite personal for you, no?”   

“Betrayer,” she purred. “How _dare you,_ after all the Crows have done for you, whoreson.”

“How dare I,” he replied, with a shake of his head. “Forget it. You don’t know any better. 

“Killing us, tormenting us, driving our houses to extinction. ” Leaning closer to the cage she snarled, “Killing our swans.”

“Lost your lover?” Zevran chuckled. “Should not have formed such an attachment if you couldn’t handle losing it.”

“This, from one with no allies? One who had completed the trial of handfasting, and now stares at me through empty eyes?” She smirked, shaking her head. “You will stay in this cage, Shadow. Enjoy all the comforts you wish you could have given her.”

Zevran pointed his eyes forward, sharp pain wracking through his chest for a moment, passing quickly away.

“Good,” Master Ghita laughed and turned to walk away. “That is what I wanted to see.”

 

*******

 

After a long, dreamless sleep, Nyla woke to see the sunrise. She sat for a few minutes, just feeling life. Feeling the newfound sense of safety that came with gaining her spirit friend. Stripping off shredded leathers, she stood in her smalls, looking out on the ocean and avoiding thoughts of how her leathers happened to become shredded. Drowning, her greatest fear, was as she had always imagined; pain, and darkness. 

Taking inventory, her pack had been reduced to a cloth on two straps. Checking her armor’s hip pocket, she pulled out some fifteen small blades and held them in her fist. The only things she had left of any use were her metal chestplate, the fancy double edged sword she never used, and the wrist mechanisms she overused. Anything else, she tossed into the sea to be carried away.

Warm winds, bright blue sky, sunshine, sand between her toes; so this was what it was like to stand around in one’s smalls on a beach. So unlike Ferelden, with its grey skies and frigid sands. Even the seagulls songs seemed full of merriment, as opposed to a lamentation. Nyla loved Antiva, so far, it just lacked in Zevran. He would look lovely in his smalls on a beach. Or nothing at all. Preferably wet, with stringy, saltwater hair falling in his eyes.

Her heart leaped into her throat, imaginings fading away and reality setting in. _He believes I’m dead._ With a startled breath, she rubbed her arms and shoulders to prove to herself that she wasn’t. _Easy, Cousland, the dead don’t get to rub themselves down on a beach in Antiva._

“Oh shit,” Nyla breathed, speaking to the sky as if the Maker would hear her. “What am I?”

She had no time for fear or confusion, and it seemed rather boring to bother with it with Zevran waiting for her. With her few belongings in hand, her eyes traced the stones along the face of the cliff. _No fucking way you’re climbing that, Cousland._

Walking along the beach in her smalls, Nyla had her first stroke of luck, finding a small, one-roomed cottage with nobody within. Breaking in proved easy, climbing through an unlocked window.

The space was clean, sparsely decorated, most every surface made of wood. She found it easy on the eyes, cozy, but wouldn’t want to live somewhere likely to combust in the mere presence of an oil lamp. Fresh food, though room temperature, sat on the table; the residents would likely return soon. She proceeded without a care, ready to kill should they wander in and take issue with her intrusion.

“Bread and fucking meat!” She giggled, filling her mouth with a bit of flatbread and then a bit of meat mixed with greens. _Antivan food is so much different, is it Zevran?_ She thought, right before being overcome with more heat and flavor than she knew how to handle.

“Maker’s…” she scrunched her face, flapped her hands through the air, and desperately stuffed her mouth full of flatbread. She squeaked, with nose running and tears spilling from her eyes. _So wrong!_

Antivan food wasn’t delicious. It was cruel. Like pepper that wanted you to die. Pouring from a pitcher of purple liquid with bits of fruit in it, she tossed back an entire glass. One thing she knew for certain, she fucking loved this drink, whatever it was.

“Okay,” she sighed shaking her head with a sniffle, and eating more flatbread as she wandered to a bureau. No women’s clothing, she grabbed a pair of britches; belt too big, she tied the leather around her waist with a knot and rolled the cuffs to reach her calves. Mechanisms around her wrists, she pulled on a brown cotton shirt that wanted to fall right off her shoulders, she tsked, rolling up the sleeves. It disgusted her, having the scent of another man all around her.

After finding an empty sack to hold her few belongings, she slid on a hooded cloak, three inches of fabric dragged on the floor behind her. Headed toward the door, a floorboard knocked beneath her foot. Getting on hands and knees, she sought the board, pressing with her fingers. Pulling up the loose board revealed a small sack of coin which she pocketed.

Stepping outside, Nyla wondered how inappropriate she would appear with no shoes. Perhaps it would come off as normal? Continuing along the beach, she remained close to the rocks to take cover in case of passersby; it would be a shame for her to get away with robbing someone and then have to kill them for discovering her with their stuff. Nyla had walked a fair bit before realizing a degree of inebriation; the purple drink had tasted nothing of alcohol, and her suspicion of Antivan food intensified. _Is nothing fucking safe here?_

Walking on sand proved taxing, her calves sore, the bottoms of her feet too hot, though she stepped in shade when the opportunity arose. In the distance she could see the edge of the rocks and a wide beach. When she reached the end, peering around the corner she saw only a gentle incline, no people. The Zevran in her mind said to go before dark, the rest of her insisted to wait until dark. _Listen to the head-Zevran, Cousland, and remember the urchins._  

Pulling the drawstring of her sack tight, she slung it over her head and it rested at the small of her back beneath her cloak; urchins would not be stealing what little she had. The peace of being on the beach did not prepare her for the chaos of Antiva City; late afternoon, and people still bustled about as if it were morning. No one so much as glanced at her, and she remained hidden beneath the hood of her cloak. So much chaos. _It’s alright, Cousland. Just keep walking._

“Maker’s fucking grapes,” she whispered in awe of the foul stench on the air. She spat on the ground and looked around for the source of this evil. It didn’t take long for her to spot it; the fabled _Antivan Leather Factory._ She looked up, eyes flicking to each building, wondering where Zevran used to live. Not that it mattered; every building looked the same.

She yearned for him. They should have been together, holding hands, wearing nice clothes and enjoying a vacation. She should absolutely _not_ have been walking around in some other man’s clothing after having risen from the dead to wander the streets of Antiva City. _Easy, Cousland. Find something to wear._   

Fuming, she walked on, her teary gaze landing on a pair of leather boots as she passed a shop window; she would buy him his fancy Antivan leather boots, someday. The pair she had pulled off a dead man several years back weren’t good enough. With a sore heart, she slipped into an alleyway and waited. So lonely, she only wanted to be held. Maker, she missed him, didn’t even know if he lived- _He’s alive, Cousland. You are alive. This is all you need._

Nyla cleared her throat, sniffled, and placed her focus on the crowd passing on the main drag. After a time, she spotted a large breasted woman, thicker around the middle than she, thighs more voluptuous. Nyla frowned; if she were still all muscle and curve, she would have armor. She remembered with a smile, a conversation she had with Zevran back when he first found her four months prior. Before they had become lovers.

 

_“You used to be… ample. Now you are slight. So very small.”_

_“I am not small.” Nyla batted at him, scrunching her eyebrows._

_“I can tell in seeing you, you have stopped eating. You have less muscle. You are wasted away and you are just…” he shook his head and tsked in mock sadness, “So so little.”_

_“I am not little!” She growled with a pout. “You’re trying to anger me.”_

_“Ohhh. Nyla does not wish to be little, but the fact does not change.” He tilted his head at her and purred with a smile, “But you are still so very lovely.” He elbowed her, giggling at her shy smile, the way she bit her lips, her cheeks heated. “Look at blushing Warden! You always did fall for every bit of flattery.”  
_

 

Nyla stepped out from the alleyway having spotted a woman with a small frame and large bust. Following her, Nyla drew closer over time, and as she walked some six feet behind her, discovered the stranger to be quite tall. Biting back the urge to swear, Nyla stopped, her breath catching in her throat; Zevran’s cloak and mask on a pike.

Her heart beat hard in her chest, cheeks pink and tears in her eyes. The woman she had followed approached the entrance of the large building, which reminded her of a Ferelden chantry. _Keep it together, Cousland. Find something to wear. He’s in there waiting._

Looking away, she wiped the sweat from her brow, and that’s when she saw her; the woman wearing her new armor. Brown leather, a mask hiding all but her eyes, hooded with a cape; Nyla strode toward her, eyes pointed forward. The moment Nyla passed the woman, she turned around, grabbed the woman's hair and smacked her into the side of a stone building. Nyla dragged her along to the side of it, and sat still for a moment, wondering if she had been seen. Nothing happened, so she began to dress.

A bit long in the sleeves, a little tight at the bust, it would have to do. Nyla liked the worn-in leather, the way the mask fit over her mouth and nose and didn’t inhibit breathing. The cloak was a slick leather, treated for water resistance.

Nyla felt her victim for a pulse and then ended her by snapping her neck. No remorse, no second thoughts; there was a chance Nyla could be identified by the woman, so she eliminated the risk.

So this was how Crows were made. _Kill or be killed._ Compassion, hesitation, mercy could be your undoing.

Walking toward the building, she glanced at Zevran’s displayed cloak as if it were a thing of little consequence, though she wanted it in her fucking hands. She would wear it proudly, taunt them with it. Perhaps it still smelled of him. _Stay focused, Cousland._

She mimicked their walk; more of a stalk, less like a straight-backed noble. She lowered her eyebrows, narrowed her eyes, frowned beneath her mask.

Crossing the threshold was the hard part, struggling with a fear of everyone suddenly noticing her and drawing blades. On the contrary, they appeared rather lax. The threat of the Black Shadow gone, they assumed no challenge to their authority.

Nyla’s gaze zeroed in on him from across the room, sitting in his cage, straight-backed and on his heels, palms resting on his thighs. Cobalt blue silk complemented his golden skin and hair; breathtaking. Dragging her hard stare from him, she approached casually, unapologetically knocking a few shoulders as she made her way across the room. Stopping next to him, she stood tall with hands on her hips, staring down her nose a mere six feet from him. _Notice me, love._

His hard gaze pointed forward, not even a sidelong glance at her. With her heart beating hard in her chest, she clenched her jaw, it took everything in her to simply not start killing in search of the key to this cage.

What was she to do? Simply bring up conversation? Would he believe anything she said? She paced toward him, humming a tune as if to herself. When it attracted no attention, she let the hum become words; a silent song for him. 

Zevran, only vaguely aware of his surroundings, remained lost in the torment of his thoughts; Ghita's punishment far more effective than she could know.

 _Inopportune time for a handfasting, indeed._ It had consumed four days of their lives. Four beautiful days they had needed to be running and planning. Zevran had no way of knowing it would take four days, and he truly believed everything would work out even as he noticed the passage of time. _So much regret._

If he hadn’t left without her, they wouldn’t have been overrun, she wouldn’t have died. If he hadn’t disguised her, if the veil had slipped away a few moments sooner, they wouldn’t have killed her. If he hadn’t married her in the first place, she wouldn’t be dead; life was a fickle whore. 

How lovely she looked in those moments, running toward him for the rescue. So fierce. Hard stare, arm raised bearing a weapon crafted by her skilled hands. She truly was a better rider without stirrups and a saddle. Better balanced, more confident; he should have believed her. Why hadn’t he believed her? Why hadn’t he trusted her more? She was no fragile, incapable thing, and he had treated her as such, grown too desperate, clinging to her so hard she slipped from his grasp. _Fool Zevran, you learn too slow._

A soft song caught his attention, and he clenched his jaw. How many times had he sung that song for her?

“Eres todo lo que pedía. Lo que mi alma vacía quería sentir.” _You’re everything I’ve asked for. What my empty soul wanted to feel._ Nyla sauntered around him, hands clasped behind her back.

He remembered clearly, the last time he had sung it for her. In Highever as he washed her hair. When he had insisted upon sleeping on the grave of everything she held dear; even after this, she trusted him. _Mi amor was so soft._

“Y cada vez que miro al pasado, es que entiendo que a tu lado, siempre pertenecí.” _Everytime I look at the past, I understand that by your side, I always belonged._

His heart beat painfully hard within his chest, the source of the song right behind him making his skin crawl; it sounded so much like her.  _Please, stop this._

“Esto es en verdad. Lo puedo sentir. Se que mi lugar es junto a ti.” _This is true. I can feel it. I know that my place is next to you._

Zevran clenched his fists, closing teary eyes; why was this happening to him? Had they spied so thoroughly they heard him singing for her? _Please, stop this._

“Ya no tengo corazón ni ojos para nadie.”  _I don't have a heart nor eyes for anyone else._ Nyla crouched down in front of him; a bold move. “Solo para ti.” _Only for you._

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he glared at big, dark eyes, and forgot to breathe.

The bars between them infuriated her; she needed him in her fucking arms. They didn’t have long, she knew better than to linger, but she needed him to receive her message. She looked to her right, a casual gesture with her left hand pushing her hood back just enough to expose her ear.

A golden, jeweled earring sparkled, and for just a few moments, a white glow shone through her eyes and through cracks in her skin. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists. This woman had his wife’s eyes, her voice, his earring… but who was she?  

Nyla stood and grumbled, “Demasiado caliente en aquí.” _Too hot in here._

He grabbed the bars of his cage, keeping his eyes off of her lest he bring attention to her. Message received. She was alive and coming for him… but what the fuck was she?


	12. The Blood Swan

Zevran rested his forehead on the bars of his cage and closed his eyes. How long had she been standing there trying to get his attention? She was right to leave, though he burned to touch her, feel she was real and ask what happened to her.

For fuck’s sake, he watched her with his own eyes get thrown into the sea. This was not a fall one survived; he disposed of the dead there several times, knowing they would never be seen again. The landing should have killed her, and if by some stroke of misfortune did not,  she would have drowned, the riptide tearing her limb from limb. _Mi amor, what the absolute fuck?_

Perhaps a woman with big, dark eyes bearing great resemblance to his spouse walked up to him and did a bunch of weird shit.

But she sang for him; a song he hadn’t heard in a decade and only ever sung for her. Flashed him his own earring and used the oft spoken code of too many Crows about. But then there was the light shining in her eyes and the momentary, gentle glow of white cracks through her skin.

He replayed it in his mind time and time again. She felt different from his Nyla, but matters of life and death tended to alter a person. Nyla was no stranger to death, but this was different. She _should_ have been dead… not that he wanted her to be.

He could argue with himself all night about logistics, but he couldn’t deny what he felt; the tug on his heart as she sang for him, the wash of pained relief as he looked into familiar eyes. The flash of gold on her ear confirming his thoughts. The startling flutter of white lights; after the initial surprise of it, he had felt a softness, a sense she knew precisely what she was doing and had a plan laid out. It gave him hope.

If it were his Nyla, something had happened to her, he burned to know what it was and how she fared in the wake of it. In the meantime, he was to do what he could to stay alive; feign misery for the Master Ghita.

 

*******

 

Nyla waited atop a roof with a ziziphus held in her teeth, reaching out to pick up a white feather. Looking out upon the wide expanse of the city, she spun the feather between her fingers, waiting. Antiva looked lovely during the day, rows of colorful homes in the distance, in contrast to the bland colors of the city’s main thoroughfare with its many shops and stalls.  

It had been three days since she had seen Zevran, though she kept an eye on the place they held him captive; choice buildings offered an exceptional view of the main entrance, on the outskirts of the center city. She had considered at great length seeing him again. Being unable to touch him or speak with him, the risk outweighed the benefit. Over the days, less people came and went, she let go of her fantasies of seeing him again as there was no crowd to get lost in.

“Nice day for a hunt,” a masculine voice spoke in Antivan from behind; Nyla braced herself for a shove, should he offer one. “On a job, perhaps?”

With ziziphus still in her mouth, Nyla turned toward him and nodded, offering him the feather. He reached out with a tentative hand and took it, glaring and smirking at her. As she anticipated, he grabbed her arm with his opposite hand. She returned his grab, snapping his wrist with a twist of her arm, she rolled him across her back, and people below startled and scattered as he landed on the ground below. Dead eyes stared up at her, white feather between his fingers. _Dipshit._

She had wondered when he might announce his presence after stalking her for the better part of an hour. A lesson relearned; standing in one place too long, watching too long, attracted unwanted attention.

Always hide. Always move. Sleep up high with one eye open.

With her tail dead it was safe to move, and she had to. Another rule; after a kill, drop the white feather and run. A mantra for her, as twice she had to run back to leave the feather. Unsafe, she knew, but it had to be done.

Slinking from one end of the roof to the other, leaping to dart along the next, sliding down a drainpipe to hit the ground, she sped through increasingly familiar back alleyways. Nyla skidded to a halt, dashed back into the shadows, held the half-eaten ziziphus in her teeth, and scrambled up the side of another building. Crawling across the roof, she peered over the edge, her gaze following two Crows; strange, how often they could be found in pairs.

Seeing so many Crows so frequently, Nyla understood precisely what Zevran had spoken of, recognizing them largely by the way they strutted about and city-dwellers stepped aside from their path. Crows also had a penchant for wearing brown. Stealthy fuckers, slipping in and out of the shadows. Not so stealthy from above, unfortunately for them. Watching them slip into an alleyway, she couldn’t tell which she enjoyed more; the hunt, or the kill.

Minutes passed waiting for them to emerge, casually finishing her ziziphus and resting her chin on her palm. Still hungry, she realized she would have to brave Antivan cuisine to keep up her strength; surely some food wasn't made of fire or alcohol.

 _Where the fuck did they go?_ Moments from giving up, they exited the front of the building. Cocky little shits, entering the back and leaving through the front. At that rate, why not just saunter right in the front door in the first place? They should be ashamed of themselves. _Sloppy little birds, where are you headed?_

They strutted toward her hiding spot and she lowered her head. As they walked, she paced them from above with silent footfalls. Their chatter carried to her as they rounded the corner into her alley; Nyla lifted her mask and adjusted her breastplate. _Three… two..._

Her knees on the target’s back pinned him to the ground. It seemed to go the same every time, she thought, as his partner turned around with weapons drawn just to receive a poisoned dagger in his eye.

After breaking the neck of one beneath her, Nyla reached into her thigh pocket, retrieving two feathers; clean white feathers could often be found on rooftops. With a subtle breeze on the air, she anchored the feathers between their cold, dead fingers, retrieved her dagger and stole what little coin they had. And then she ran.

Sprinting for half a block, she climbed the nearest convenient building. One with drainpipes, though window ledges suited her purpose as well. Sometimes she bounded back and forth from one wall to the other until she could grab something and pull herself up; conditions had to be perfect for Nyla to do this. A dense fog always lowered over the city at dusk making everything slick... and smell like shit. 

Dashing across a roof and leaping onto the next, she wondered what beauty Zevran could show her, as Antiva City seemed nothing more than a hunting ground.

 

*******

 

The vision from three nights prior became a haunt rather than a comfort. If Zevran were certain it had been her, he could feel longing instead of grappling with her demise. If it was her, what precisely was she doing out there? How did she fare? He imagined her as lonely, struggling to find food, robbed by urchins which could happen to literally anyone. Worse yet, he wanted out of his fucking prison.  

They kept close watch on him, a minimum of six constant guards; how flattering. How very expensive. Zevran was a patient man, and he knew the opportunity for escape would present itself, eventually.

The Master Ghita was emotional for a Crow. Emotionally unstable, as they all tended to be, but she had spite and venom. A big mouth and loud personality. If he were to guess, she was no compradi*. More likely an applicant who happened upon the right circumstances to land herself the rank of Talon. Zevran would expect more from a Master. More… sanity. He wanted the blood of this backstabbing bitch on his hands.

Despite his efforts, Zevran couldn’t avoid thoughts of how he had willingly offered himself up for enslavement only to be betrayed. He would have worked for the Master Ghita, been her assassin… all she had to do was let Nyla live. She had nodded her agreement. When one barters a life for a life, one did not rescind. It just… wasn’t how shit was done. It was not the way of Crows. She had already won without the agreement, so why fucking bother making one to begin with? There was no fucking contract on his wife making the agreement impossible- _this was not their way!_

Another rush of anger shuddered through him and he clenched his fists and jaw. _Rotten bitch!_

The way Nyla had tried to sooth him on the cusp of her own death made his heart sore and raw. _‘I love you. I will find you.’_  She knew him well enough to understand his fear of a cage. 

The fear in her eyes as they flung her. She didn't even cry out, likely a brave face for his benefit. Drowning had been her biggest fear; a terror so big she couldn’t face the most placid of warm, sunlit waters. She did once. 

So beautiful back then, in her bravery, the sun reflecting off grey waters which sparkled on her bare skin. The big smile she flashed him, bared teeth and crinkled eyes. She moved slowly, presenting herself with arms wide, so proud of her achievement. The way she panicked when he pointed behind her, sent her screaming and scrambling to the water’s edge. It was funny, and she hadn’t tried it since; he was such an asshole.

The band of silver around his middle finger caught his eye, but he dared not let his gaze linger. They hadn’t demanded it or even seem to notice it, so he didn’t either. He didn’t thumb it idly as he drifted in and out of thought, or slip it off and on to busy his hands. He didn’t even try to obscure his hand to lessen odds of it being seen; he pretended it was nothing so it would be taken as such, and they wouldn’t think to take it from him.

“If this _is_ the Black Shadow, Ghita, he should be executed.”

“One would think so,” she responded coolly. “Putting him on display serves as a very poignant means of showing what happens to a betrayer.”

Footsteps ceased at his cage, and Zevran glared up from where he sat on his heels. “Claudio.”

“Zevran,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest. “Congratulations on your handfasting.”

“Fuck off,” Zevran muttered, clenching his jaw.

“I take it she _is_ dead?” Claudio asked Ghita.

“Thrown off the coast of Rialto,” she responded simply.

“Don’t forget about your broken agreement,” Zevran snarled, standing to meet her eyes. “Does he know who you killed?” She scowled in silence and Zevran continued, “I take it you left these details out of your victory.”

Claudio shook his head with a _tsk_ and spoke as if berating a child. “What have you done now, Ghita?”

“The Swan was the Ferelden Hero.” Ghita spoke softly, “I didn’t know until it was too late.”

“Shit,” Claudio rested his hands on his hips. “Have you informed the Wardens?”

“I thought it best not to start a war over an accident.”

“Unfortunate." Claudio sighed deeply with a frown. “She had taken the station of Warden-Commander, last I heard. Perhaps she abandoned her station as well? I suspected your ties to her, Zevran. One would think she could do better than to wed an assassin who betrayed his own brothers-in-arms.”

“She would have had the chance, were she alive.” With an upwelling of anger he spat, “I offered my life for hers. My servitude for her survival.”

Ghita scowled, folding her arms across her chest. “I wouldn’t trust either of you to adhere to this agreement.”

“While I cannot say what she would have done, I intended to follow through,” Zevran met her eyes, face hot as he grasped the bars of his prison. “You waste my life in this cage, I would have brought notoriety to your house _honorably.”_

“Simply catching you gained me enough notoriety without risk, _Shadow.”_

“Then why make the agreement, Master Ghita?” Claudio pursed his lips, staring at her. This pleased Zevran, as the seed had been planted; this would always be in the backs of their minds, a permanent mark on her house. “I would have him publicly hanged, were I you. That’s example enough of what happens to deserters.”

“It is still a possibility.” Ghita shrugged.

Claudio held up a white feather. “These have been cropping up the last few days. Found on three dead assassins. I don’t believe the Swan is dead. And take note of how your trophy does not look surprised.”

“What would I be surprised about?” Zevran chuckled, tearing his gaze from the feather, heart beating hard in his chest. “Ghita fucking killed her, and I will not hold out hope to see her again because of three fucking feathers.”

Claudio pursed his lips, staring at Zevran for several moments before turning to go. “Get rid of him. You’re wasting resources.” 

"They are mine to waste."

 

*******

 

Dense, nighttime fog rolled over the city, and Nyla curled up on a rooftop, holding her cloak tight around herself to remain dry. Oil lamps lined the streets, the silence of night interrupted by the occasional babbling drunkard.

Nights on the beach were no better, with roughians by their bonfires indulging in too much drink. She couldn’t find quiet, and sleep came in small doses as every sound roused her.  

She closed her eyes, remembered his scent, the way his arms felt around her, lips on the bare skin of her shoulders, the soothing motion of curling her toes against the tops of his bare feet. His gratified sighs as she wrapped her arms around him. Silky, golden hair between her fingers. _‘Te amo, esposa.’_

Nyla scowled, awakened by someone pissing on the side of the storefront she camped upon. Not that she had any room to complain; it wasn’t as if she knew of a better place for such a thing. Regardless, the more time she spent in Antiva City, the more she hated it. Such a big place. There were no convenient wilds for her to escape to, she had no campfire, no bedroll, and no coin to spare; coin was reserved for food, water, and charcoal. Maker's breath, who paid for water? _Fucking Antivans._

Frustrated, giving up on sleep, she stood, stalked to the edge of the roof and climbed down. Walking along back alleys, she stepped over the homeless, the drunkards, cats and dogs scurrying away with what scraps of food they could find. Antiva City, Zevran’s glittering gem, was no better than an alienage.    

As she came upon the house they kept Zevran captive, she stayed close to the walls, crouched low, silent in her footsteps. Two guarded Zevran’s cloak, speaking quietly among themselves. Slipping past them proved easy despite oil lamps; sticking to the shadows. Several large windows lined their house, and she chose one toward the back. With a gentle hand, she swiped away the moisture, just enough to see.

A wash of relief went through her when she saw him, safe where she had left him. A cinching pain in her chest followed, as the details unfolded. Standing with elbows rested against the bars, his face haggard, he stared at nothing. Laughter sounded from the Master Ghita, who paced around his cage. At a glance, Nyla estimated fourteen assassins in the room. Lounging around a long table with drink in hand.

 

When Zevran had developed his plan to hurt for Ghita's entertainment, to play along with her game to keep her satisfied and bide his time, he hadn’t anticipated contending with actual hurt. Fucking bored; his cage felt more confining with each passing day as she teased him with memory of his love.

“I hear tale The Grey Warden wasted from grief at the loss of her King,” Ghita ran her hands along the bars of his cage. “He was a handsome man, wasn’t he?”

Zevran said nothing, resting his forehead against the bars.

“Come now, Zevran. Play along, you’re making me do all the talking.”

“He was,” Zevran spoke, his voice flat. “And a good man.”

“You held him in high esteem?” Ghita smiled with a questioning eyebrow raised. “Must have been a challenge to replace him, hmm?”

Zevran responded with a shake of his head. “I have never tried to.”

Ghita’s smile faltered at such a simple and genuine answer. This was apparently no fun for her, so she tried another angle.

“Have you ever had a woman you didn’t eventually kill?”

“I didn’t kill her Ghita,” Zevran mumbled. “You did.”

 _“Master_ Ghita.” She folded her arms across her chest. “She would be alive now, had you told us who she was instead of screaming.”

He remained silent, bored of her. Yes, it hurt. _He_ hurt, and had done more wrong by Nyla than he cared to admit. What did Ghita fucking want?

“Tell us about her, Zevran,” Ghita purred, sitting on the floor, settling back on her elbows with legs stretched out, and ankles crossed. “Was she a good lover?”

With teeth clenched, his lips trembled for a moment, and he nodded, closing his eyes. _‘Make love to me again, esposa.’ ‘How would you have me, darling?’_

“What else, Zevran?” Ghita crooned from her seat on the floor. “Tell us about the Hero. The one who found a whoreson worthy of spirit-bond.”

Nyla watched and listened, on the verge of tears, her fingers pressed tight against the brick. She had known this would be difficult for him, but this was not what she had expected. She removed her hood and mask, hoping he would look up at her. _Please, love. I’m here._

“How did the elven son of a whore end up married to a legend?” Ghita continued with a chuckle, “Come now, whoreson. Tell us a love story.”

Zevran leaned back against his cage with a sigh, letting his arms rest at his sides. “Your attempts at cruelty bore me, Ghita.”

“You say this, but from the look on your face I would say you were moments from weeping.” She tossed her dark hair from her shoulders. “Are you perhaps considering all the ways you failed her?”

Zevran sighed again, letting his head fall back and rest against the bars. “I often do.”  

His Nyla; so many times he had made such poor choices for her. For them. And still she trusted, forgave, never resented him. _Such a precious and soft thing, mi amor._

Zevran saw her then, while staring down the bridge of his nose, his gaze pointed across the room. Clear as day and twice as lovely, Nyla watched him through the window with wide eyes, resting a gloved palm against the glass as if reaching for him. With a stabilizing breath, he pulled his eyes from her lest they noticed his staring. Sitting down in his cage, Zevran rested his elbows on his knees with a trembling sigh. Tears slipped down his cheeks, and he quickly wiped them away. That was no ghost. He was not mistaken. It was her.

“I think I hit a sore spot.” Ghita sat up and laughed. The idle chatter of her comrades ceased, they looked anywhere else and squirmed in their seats, taking long draws of their drinks. “Are those the Shadow's tears I see?” 

 

Nyla turned and ran hard, weeping silently, breath coming in gasps as she dashed along the building until its end, making a hard right and skidding on decorative gravels, double bladed sword in hand. Startling the Crows guarding Zevran’s cloak and mask, she darted toward them.

“You’re dead, birds,” she growled through tears, raising her blade high and leaping at the nearest one. The Crow dodged, and she landed with blade sticking into soft dirt. A boot met her ribs.

Gasping, she rose up to her knees, flicked her wrist, arm jerking outward to catch a Crow in the temple with a poisoned dagger, the second stood back in fighting stance but didn’t pursue.

He swallowed and asked, “What are you?”

“Your end,” Nyla growled breathlessly, flicking her wrist to expose her blade, lunging at him with her double bladed sword held up.

 

“Oh.” Zevran looked at Ghita with a chuckle. “Yes. A few tears. Tends to happen when people grieve.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Ghita purred. “I’m not foolish enough to love.”

“Oh sure. Sure.” Zevran nodded casually. “Apart from your dead lover, the Master Availa, of course.”

Ghita bit her lip, glaring at him for a few moments. “You got lucky. She was _better than you.”_

“She was unremarkable, really.” Zevran smirked with a shrug. “The only thing I remember is hearing her plead for life.”

“Bullshit,” Ghita laughed, though he could see the flicker of pain in her gaze. “And what of your dead soulmate? Tell us of her.”

“Alright, _Master_ Ghita,” Zevran purred. “Nyla had an affinity for dick jokes. Snorted obscenely as she laughed. Was honestly kind of a dork, you see. Well read, though naive in the ways of the world. Had never eaten a ziziphus until a few days ago. She had this hard exterior but… was very soft, and far too devoted. I have gotten her poisoned, stabbed, made her sleep on the grave of her noble family, and _still_ she loved me without reservation. I loved her, I’ll miss her, the loss of her is an incomparable pain. Did I leave anything out?”

 

The memory of killing so many clouded the reality of Nyla's lack in skill, and she growled with the agony of a blade plunging into her chest. Her regular method was one of ambush and calculation, and with emotion clouding her every action, the outcome was no surprise. 

A pained grunt and hiss slipped through her clenched teeth as the Crow withdrew his blade. Pressing a palm to her chest, Nyla groaned, tasting blood as the wound closed. Her lung repaired itself, sinew and skin crawled back into place. The Crow turned from her to flee toward the house, and she jumped up and leaped at him, her blade in his back, eliciting a cry from him Nyla feared his comrades might hear.

 _“Fucking Crows!”_ Nyla growled, blood spattering as she stabbed him several more times, punctuating each plunge of her blade with a curse.

Standing, she looked around, breathing heavily and heart beating hard. She spat the blood from her mouth. There was no way she could run in and kill them all; how many stabbings could she survive? _Don’t go in, Cousland. They would capture you and all would be lost._

She tossed the feathers from her pocked on the ground, unsatisfied. Soaking her gloved hands in the blood of the dead, she left a message. One which couldn’t be ignored or mistaken. So much for subtlety, building up mystery and fear one feather at a time. Kicking over the pike, the Swan fled with the Black Shadow's cloak in her bloodied hands.

 

                                                       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Compradi means purchased.


	13. Feathers and Knives

With Zevran’s cloak slung over her shoulder, Nyla climbed. A long climb onto a flat rooftop, high enough to see tops of lush trees in the far distance; the nearest place she could find solace still too far away. Curling around the cloak in her arms, she stared through the fog at the crescent moon.  

 _‘What are you?’_ The Crow’s gruff demand played clear in her memory. What did it mean? What was she but a desperate woman fighting for the stolen part of herself?

 _Something_ had happened, and her heart trembled in its wake. Overpowered, overwhelmed with a need not just to kill, but to destroy. Something wasn’t right; she needed her ally, and someone had him in a cage just beyond her reach.

Reflecting on drawing a blood swan on the ground, she shuddered. Apart from a vague sense of being appalled by her own actions, she wasn't prepared for them to know of her presence with such certainty. Guard would be high, they would search for her, and she had nothing but feathers and knives.  _Fuck! What have I done?  
  
__You can still do this, Cousland. You still have him._

 

“Wake up, Swan,” a masculine voice purred.

Nyla jumped to her feet with a startled gasp, flicking both wrists and taking a low, defensive posture. A smirking young man with weapons drawn crouched in front of her to meet her hard gaze. A long silence followed.

Pointed ears, dark hair, dark eyes, a stunning softness to his expression Nyla refused to be thrown off by; that he woke her instead of attacking invited curiosity.

“What do you want?” Nyla demanded, her heart pounding from an abrupt awakening.

“I want you to stop this mindless killing of my brothers-in-arms, for one.” With slow movements, he laid down his sword and dagger. “And I do not wish to fight you.”

“Why?” She growled, holding her defensive stance.

“It does not appear you can be killed. I saw you last night. Alonso took a knife to the head. And Eloy...” he shrugged, sitting with his legs folded beneath himself. “Brutal. What did their deaths accomplish for you?”

“What do you want?” Nyla repeated through clenched teeth.

He nudged a small, cylindrical, paper-wrapped parcel toward her. “Eat.”

Nyla side-eyed him with a smirk. “Why would I take food from you?”

“Because you need food. I can see it in your color.” He shrugged, his hands waving through the air in an elegant flourish. “Eat or don’t. I have already made it clear I’ll not bother trying to kill you.”

Nyla took a stabilizing breath and slid her daggers back into her sleeves; being unkillable would take some getting used to. Stomach clenching painfully with the need to eat, she snatched up the food, imagining it would result in suffering, poison or no. _If I cannot be killed, why do I need food?_ She dismissed her troubling thoughts and spoke, “Thank you.”

He nodded and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “What is this glowing and not dying after getting stabbed? What are you?”

“I owe you no answers.” With her eyes still on him, she took off her bloodied gloves and unwrapped her meal; meat wrapped in flatbread. She smiled, chuckling through her nose.

He offered a smirk and tilted his head. “I like your smile.”

Nyla hadn’t anticipated biting into the most delicious food she had ever eaten, and the burning heat she braced for never occurred. “No need for flattery, you have my attention.”

“But I still like your smile.” Dark eyes met dark eyes as they surveyed each other. “My impulse is to like you, Swan. But I am angry for your actions.”

“Bullshit,” Nyla grumbled with a full mouth. “This is far too much sentiment for a Crow.”

“Is it, now?” He shrugged with a smirk. “I can be whatever I want when they are not looking.”

“Or you can be whatever you imagine I want, when I am.” Mind clearing after finally having a decent meal, she furrowed her brow and growled, “I don’t have time for games. Tell me why we are speaking. I have much to do.”

“This ‘much to do’ you speak of…” He waved his hands and shook his head. “It is not working.”

“Oh?” Nyla chuckled with a smirk, unsurprised he would be so cocky as to imagine he knew her plans - or at least try to convince that he knew them. “How can you tell?”

“Because you’re killing _innocents,”_ he spoke incredulously, as if it were an obvious thing.

 _“Crows,”_ she countered, disgust playing on her lips.

“We are people doing our jobs, Swan,” he implored. “Our spiteful Masters hold one man, and we pay with our lives?”

“Enough,” Nyla growled, jumping to her feet to look down at him. “If you’re trying to play on my emotions, know I care less for assassins than your Masters. I am here for what was stolen from me, and until I have him, there will be blood.” Flicking her wrists to ready her blades, Nyla took a step toward him. “Unless you have something to help my cause, you are more useful to me dead.”

Holding his hands up with palms facing outward, he furrowed his brow and spoke quickly, “I am not fool enough to approach someone so powerful without something of value to offer.”

 _Flattery. Such a Crow._ Nyla pursed her lips, pacing around him. “I’m listening.”

“Is intimidation necessary?” His head followed her as she circled him. “I am… _offering…”_ He tsked, clenching his fists and resting them on his lap. “How _annoying!”_

Nyla withheld laughter, biting her lip. “What’s your name?”

“Azar.”

“Azar.” Crouching in front of him, Nyla raised a blade to his throat and purred, “I understand you come here to manipulate me, offering me food and flattery. I understand you have a point and purpose. I need you to also understand, time holds more value to me than your beating heart.”

“Ah, okay. Business.” He spoke quickly. “I have information, resources. People. Help us, and we will help you.”  

“You imagine I need you?”

“Yes! Please remove your blade from my personal space,” he asked with polite tonality. “Hearing me is a valuable use of your time.”

Nyla sat in front of him, put her blades away, and brought out a more poignant weapon. Allowing curiosity, she offered him a glimpse of herself with a soft smile and a curious tilt of her head. His dark eyes betrayed him; a moment of relief, the muscles of his chest and shoulders subtly relaxed as he released a held breath. Nyla saw there to be far more at stake than his life.

“Last night I saw you,” he spoke, reeling in memory of the sounds of her weeping and feral cries as she mutilated people he respected. “I recognized the face of the Hero of Ferelden. I must admit surprise in discovering the Swan and the Hero are the same. This is an alliance I would be a fool to pass on.”

Nyla inwardly cringed, as always, baffled by her apparent recognizability; she was a fool to believe she could remain hidden for long. “What are you proposing? Give me specifics.”

“I can offer you resources. A network. A small force of Crows in a similar mindset to my own.”

Intrigued, she relaxed, deciding this was a good use of her time. “Tell me more of this mindset, Azar.”

“If you would allow me to indulge in sharing my short tale?” he asked, continuing after she nodded. “When the Black Shadow rained chaos upon us, he made some very… poignant kills. There were many shifts of power. Houses had newly appointed Masters, often multiple times. During this chaos, many of us were without Master, reporting to find the Master has _again_ been killed. No way to get contracts. No means of getting paid for completing them.”

“What did you do?” Nyla asked, leaning closer to him.

“Many of us sought alliance with assassins from other houses, and also found contracts outside of the network. Both of these are transgressions we could pay for with our lives.”

“So your house has been essentially disbanded, and you choose to remain a Crow?”

“Not disbanded, no. Just  _chaos._ ” He spoke passionately, his hands waving around as he rattled off his tale. “I was born into the Antivan Crows, what else would I do? Become a shopkeep? How does one acquire a fucking shop? Realistically, I can’t leave. My house would one day stabilize. They would find me and… put me on display in a fucking cage for all I know.”

“That scares you?”

“Of-fucking- _course!”_ He furrowed his brow at her.

“Why?”

“Do _you_ wish to live in a cage?” Azar laughed, shaking his head with a sigh. “Why are you _like this?”_

“If I’m honest…” Nyla began, a hand raising to idly toy with her earring. “My spouse is in a cage, and I hoped to have insight from a Crow of what this might be like for him.”

 _“Obviously_ being in a cage- wait, he _married?”_ Azar asked in his surprise, feeling awe that a _Crow_ would have the wherewithal to tread in such territories; of _course_ it had gone all wrong!

Nyla nodded, forced to push away longing for Zevran, and the grief of his leaving her behind. After a few moments of silence she spoke, “Continue with your tale, please, Azar. I feel… urgency to continue with my cause.”

“Yes…” He thought for a few moments, blinking away the unpleasant haze of... feelings. “Eyes and ears are everywhere, you see, and when we learned the Black Shadow is Zevran of the dwindling house Arainai, it became an inspirational tale of sorts. A Crow who escaped and then came back to change things… and things began to change."

Nyla bit her lip and held her tongue; if Zevran’s actions gave them hope, she wouldn’t tell otherwise.

“In the chaos we saw… possibility. We have already seen the freedom and burden of being without Master. Things could be so much better. We want more coin, freedom to _choose._ Not the… fake choices we have. ‘Do or die.’ That is not _choice._ ”

“You’re right,” Nyla nodded, respect buiding for her newfound ally, remembering the bloody death of Jory, a goblet of noxious fluids thrust between her trembling hands, hovering beneath her nose. _Do or die._ “That is no choice. Tell me what you have in mind, Azar.”

“We free the Black Shadow as a show of strength. Azar, the man who recruited the help of the Hero of Ferelden to free the legend, would be honored with the position of Grandmaster.”

 

*******

 

“Have I already told you her legs were very long?” Zevran smirked from where he stood behind the bars of his cage, leaning back comfortably. “I mean, proportional to her body.”

“Shut up, Shadow,” Master Ghita grumbled as she breezed past.

“Did I tell you she used to have long hair to the small of her back?” He called after her. She ignored him, disappearing around a corner. “She asked me so many times to tell her about The Hero, I am beginning to think she does not care anymore. Fuck, I am so bored. Did she seem in an excessively surly mood to you? No?”  

The guards, as always, ignored him. He used to be like them; a brainwashed possession, stamping out feelings to hold onto sanity. But it was not sanity, it was a waste of life. Minutes passed, and Zevran stared at the window across the wide room, imagining her face where he had seen it some twelve hours prior.

“You know,” Zevran began with a sigh. “If you stopped pretending you aren’t friends you would have more fun. I learned that several years ago during the Blight. The Blight was fun. Ended shitty, but mostly I’m just glad it ended. One time, Alistair-”

“Shadow!” Ghita barked, approaching him. “What is she?”

“Hmm?” He sighed, nibbling his lip to withhold a smirk. “Who?”

“The fucking Hero. Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

“It doesn’t?” Zevran didn’t flinch as Ghita dashed forward and grabbed the bars.

“Do not fuck with me, Zevran,” she snarled. “What is the Swan?”

“Dead,” Zevran purred with a pout, tilting his head. “Must you rub it in all the time? The devastation is intolerable.”

“Do you wish to be executed?”

Zevran shrugged and grabbed the bars above his head. “You are the Master. Do whatever you want, Ghita.”

“Chain him,” she commanded, backing away.

Zevran held his hands out in front of himself. “Is it execution time? That would certainly quell the boredom.”

Shackles clasped around his wrists and ankles, two separate locks were opened by Ghita, and one other. The door swung open, she walked, and they followed; six guards with weapons ready as they headed toward the front entrance.

They stepped outside and Zevran took a deep breath; sun on his skin, a warm wind stirring his hair, the familiar and soothing smell of the leather factory subtle on the air. Wide open space, only seven surrounding him.

“Is this safe?” Zevran purred, following her along the path. “I am very dangerous.”

“You are chained, unarmed and without shoes.”

“Your lack of faith in my skill, frankly, insults me.” He leaned back with a giggle, evading her fist. “That might have hurt, but I doubt it.”

“I am bored of you,” she growled, grabbing his collar and dragging him forward, the chain between his ankles making him stumble when she pushed him. “You will tell me what she is, or be executed.”  

“Wow.” Zevran stared at the swan drawn in blood next to a mangled corpse, and he felt soft for Nyla; this was unlike her. “Whoever did this is… very angry, I wager.”

“No shit.” Ghita folded her arms across her chest and held up a long, white feather. “How is she not dead?”

“How is she not, indeed.”

“Is it because she is a Warden?” After a few moment’s silence, Ghita snarled and spoke with a pointed finger, “Look, you little shit-”

“What do you expect from me, Ghita?” He struggled momentarily against his chains, his eyes flicking around for a means of escape. “If she were alive, would this not be a good thing? You claimed you regretted her death. Do you wish to try to kill her again? If I knew _how,_ why the fuck would I tell you? Why would I tell you anything at all? Why are we even standing out here having a discourse?”

“Because,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “I will make her come to us.”

“Have you taken up necromancy now?” Zevran’s gaze flicked around, seeking an opening, a means of escape, a nudge which could land, perhaps he could drop to the ground sweep the legs from beneath one.

“I could kill you right now,” Ghita shouted, unsheathing her weapon and pointing it at him. “I would rather everyone had a chance to see what happens to those who would abandon the Crows.”

“Oh, okay,” Zevran spoke with a glare. “Hoping you’ll see her ghost walk in? Such a clever plan.”

“A week from now, at dawn.” she shouted.  

“An entire _week?_ Is that prudent? And why do we always host these things at dawn? Why not now?”

Her dagger pressed beneath his chin, her temper flaring at his incessant snark. “You will be hanged!”

“You should hollar concise instructions on how to get to the gallows,” Zevran smirked, his eyes flicking around again for escape.

“Shut the _fuck up!”_ Ghita yelled and put her weapon away. “You just… _never shut up!”_

“Because you are so fucking easy to irrita-” the back of Ghita’s hand met his jaw, and his head tossed to the side. Glaring at her through the stars in his eyes he grumbled, “You hit like a wet sack of shit.”

 

*

 

Glowering from her vantage point on a roof, Nyla could hear the shouted parts well enough, feeble threats of execution which would never carry through. _Calling me out, Ghita?_

Bitch Ghita struck Zevran with the back of her hand, and Nyla had a sudden urge to repay it ten-fold.

“She is dead,” Nyla grumbled, and a firm hand landed on her shoulder.

“No,” Azar spoke from beside her. “It would be seven against one. I am not following you into that.”

“Why not? What would they do? Kill me?”

“They would kill _me._ And you could be captured. What then?”

“Azar, he’s right fucking there.” She held her head between her hands and growled, “I’m going to kill her.”

“How?” Azar asked, trying to redirect the vengeful woman’s attention.

 _“How?”_ Nyla snorted, letting go of her head to look at him. “I’m going to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze the life from her.”

“Mmm. Watch the light from her eyes go out.” His eyes traced the movements of a man walking down the street. “Very intimate.”

Her eyebrows knitted together, and she shook her head. “Azar, I’m not going to spend any time discussing the joys of murder with you.”

Azar giggled and glanced at her. “You are right. Action is better than words, no?”

“Says the man who told me to stop killing Crows.”

“Oh, you can kill. Just… maybe with some discretion.”

“Oh, _thank you.”_ Nyla rolled her eyes. “Let me know when it’s okay to kill, hmm?”

“Sure,” Azar nodded.

 

*

 

 _“_ You,” Ghita pointed at one and commanded, “Clean this up. The rest of you, put him back in his fucking cage.”

“You should leave the blood swan!” Zevran called over his shoulder, pulling against them as they dragged him toward the door. “It’s pretty! It livens the place up!”

They dragged him through the main hall, his struggling ceased at the threshold of his prison. Ghita stood close to Zevran, her hand wrapped tight around his neck. As Zevran slid the second key in his sleeve, he smiled at her and waggled his eyebrows.

“I do not have words,” she seethed, “to express how fucking obnoxious you are.”

“I do not have words to express how bad your breath is,” he squeaked, gasping as she let him go, and rough hands tossed him back into his cage. 

 

*******

 

“I cannot simply give you a list of resources, Swan.” Azar lifted a round, metal cover to the underground, and made way for Nyla to climb down first. Pulling the cover back in place he continued, “You must ask for something, my comrades and I will find a way retrieve it.”

“That… is interesting.” Nyla’s feet sloshed through shallow water as she moved out of his way. “I know you all carry very little coin, so how does that work?”

“Caches. Stored in several places.” He gestured for her to follow. “Each house has their own hidden caches, and as I told earlier, I had formed alliances with assassins from other houses. Likely, we can find what you need.”

“Is this really all about power for you, Azar?” She asked, eyes flicking around in the dim light of the sewer.

“I believe things could be different. I believe I could lead the Antivan Crows better and give us better lives. So yes, this is all about power.”

“So you’re saying there’s an underground movement of Crows giving a shit about other Crows?”

“What?” His eyebrows scrunched and he shook his head. “No, they’re giving a shit about themselves.”

“But… it seems like your desire for power is to help better _their_ lives.”

“You keep… _twisting…_ shut the fuck up, Swan!” He whined, briefly flopping his arms about. “Why are you like this?”

“I don’t know!” She chuckled at what had been apparently a Crow tantrum. “Why are you the way you are?”

Azar stopped and reached into the neckline of his leathers, pulling out a locket on a chain. Lifting it over his head, he held it out to her. Nyla couldn’t help softening at his gesture, taking the dangling locket from him. Upon opening it, she discovered a coiled lock of yellow hair.

“What's her name?”

“His name was Santiago.” After a long pause and a sigh, he spoke as if sharing a tale of little consequence. “We often worked together. Our Master killed him as an example to the young ones. ‘The only reason you live is to become useful to me one day.’ And then he… stabbed Santiago and went on to say, ‘And even if you make it to be Crow, it does not mean someone will not turn on you.’ Santiago looked to me and… I had to stand there and pretend it was nothing. Then I had to dispose of his remains.”

“I’m sorry,” Nyla whispered, clicking the locket shut and handing it back to him.

Azar dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand and tucked his trinket away. “He killed Santiago to prove we are nothing. Santiago was not nothing. We are not nothing.”

“Very good, Azar.” Nyla offered a soft smile. “Your anger is justified.”

“Thank you,” he nodded cordially, accepting her words as one would a compliment. “Anyway. Our master used to provide apartments. Cramped as they were, we still had a place to go.”

They entered a large room, a tunnel exit on each of its four sides. Hammocks lined the walls of this wet, dimly lit room, water trickled in the distance.

“We spent our coin on food, a few simple pleasures. Now, when we cannot find some other bed for the night, this is where we sleep. You may rest here. Or whatever suits your fancy.”

“What is your-” Nyla’s head whipped toward a gentle humming, and she saw rhythmic movements in the darkest corner.

“What?” Azar followed her as she backed out of the room. “Surely married life includes enough of such things for them not to startle you so.”

She furrowed her brow and stammered, “If I do… such things with my spouse, we’re in a private place.”

Azar shrugged. “This is a private place.”

“No, it’s really not,” Nyla shook her head and withheld laughter.

“It is!” Azar chuckled. “If you did not have insufficient human eyes, you would have seen they were here first. We cannot all demand to have an entire room alone every time we need to simply-”

“I get it.” Nyla waved her hands in front of herself, cheeks heating.

“If you were not here on business, I would probably ask them if I may join.” He shrugged, and tilted his head at her. “Unless you wish to?”

“No, thank you,” she sighed, blinking several times, the invitation offered in such innocence she couldn’t take offense. “We have much to do.”

“You are very uptight, for being a woman of action, Swan.”

 

*******

 

“What will you do? Kill me and ruin next week’s execution?” Zevran chuckled, turning the key in the second lock. “Or perhaps she would understand if you killed me, given the circumstances.”

It wouldn’t have taken long for Ghita to realize the absence of her key, and the moment she had left the room, Zevran utilized them. Each of his six guards stood stunned with weapons ready as the door swung open, and he stepped out of his cage.

“You let me get the keys somehow, and here I am out of my cage.” Zevran tsked, shaking his head and resting his hands on his hips. “Regardless of what you choose, Ghita is going to be furious, and you’re all dead for failing. I do not envy you.”

“Get back in your cell, Shadow, or we’ll not go easy putting you back.”

“So very cunning, that one.” Zevran smirked, his eyes flicking around, calculating his first move. He had precious few moments to choose; the surprise of his escape would wear off, they would gather what few wits they had between them, and make their move.

“And that is where my key went,” Bitch Ghita strode into the room with her arms folded across her chest, wearing her best not-surprised face.

The moment things turned to his favor, the eyes of each assassin momentarily flicking toward their Master. Zevran dashed forward, grabbed both hands of one of the guards and pushed, driving the daggers she held into her own face; he couldn’t help giggling at the woman who held daggers too high, just like his wife.

Holding the pommels of his first victim’s daggers, with his foot on her chest he pushed her carcass away, and her weapons became his; thus marked the moment they were all completely fucked.

He made quick work of them, efficient with each strike, not a moment wasted. Freedom to move felt good, killing divine, and as the last of the six guards fell at his feet he stalked toward Ghita.

“How many times did I say you underestimate me, Ghita?”

“And how long have I known you to talk shit, Zevran?” She spat running toward him with blades ready.

Zevran simply stepped out of her way, grabbing her hair as she passed. With a heel to her spine he sent her tumbling face first into the cage. Locking it behind her, he laughed as he waited for her to shake the stars from her eyes.

“How embarrassing for you!” Zevran spoke, giggles tapering as he took in her wide-eyed, disbelieving stare. “I told you, each time you made a choice, the flaws in them, but no… Zevran was just talking shit again. Nothing to say, former-almost-Grandmaster Ghita? No?”


	14. Desperation

Zevran found his armor within a chest in the washroom where they had stored it the day he arrived. Perhaps kept as another trophy. A keepsake from her conquest, as Crows were oft wont to do.

After cleaning the dust from his leathers, and then washing himself, slipping into his armor felt good, empowering. It even held the faintest scent of his poor Nyla, likely tearing her hair out in trying to get to him. Zevran hoped Nyla would return to see Ghita in the cage, and then have her way, after all, the bitch had tried to kill her. Or did kill her; Maker, he had so many questions.

“The morning guard will come,” Ghita purred, smirking at him as he sauntered through.

“And what, show you loyalty? Does imagining this bring you comfort?” He returned her smirk as he passed. “You are my prisoner, Ghita.”

After confirmation the front door had been bolted, he went to her and crouched down, allowing himself the liberty of toying with the ring on his finger. “Nyla gave this ring to me. It bears her family crest. For a time, I feared you would take the last of her from me.”

“Sentiment,” Ghita spat.

“Crow rhetoric,” Zevran shrugged. “Here you cage me to watch me suffer because you had your heart broken. You can scoff all you like, but even I am not so sentimental to do such a thing.”

“Then why do you keep me in here?” Ghita leaned back with a satisfied smirk.

“You will wait in this cage until Nyla decides what she wishes to do with you,” Zevran purred. “After all, she is the one you tried to kill.”

“So you admit she is alive now?”

“This…” Zevran wagged a finger at her and chuckled. “You are going to love this tale. The very night after you put me in here, she walked in, sang me a song and walked back out.”

“Bullshit,” Ghita rolled her eyes.

“You left the doors open to show off your _very_ attractive trophy. The dangers of being cocky,” he shrugged. “One learns to live with them. That is, until you have another to consider, then shit gets harder.”

“Cocky, like keeping someone who wants you dead in a cage?” She smirked, leaning her head back.

Zevran stood, strolled around the cage and stopped behind her. Reaching in, he grabbed her head and snapped her neck.

“Cocky, like reminding someone they are being too cocky.” He stood with a deep sigh, looking around for something to do; he began stacking the dead in a corner. “Cocky. I have said cocky too many times. It has all but lost its meaning. Cocky.”

 

*******

 

_“Gather in the surrounding areas of the Vescovi territory tomorrow at dusk when the light is in our favor. We approach from all sides. From above, and from below.” Nyla spoke, projecting her voice which echoed subtly around her. Their stern faces stared up at her, several gave a single nod._

_Silence followed, apart from the sound of trickling water. All eyes remained upon her._

_“Do you have any questions?” Nyla asked. Several eyebrows furrowed, and she remembered they were Crows; they weren’t permitted curiosity, or to ask clarifying questions._

_“There is no confusion, Swan,” Azar spoke with a firm nod. “We will not fail you.”_

Nyla sat on a rooftop reflecting on the events of the day, trying to enjoy being outside before the setting sun and rolling fog chased her back into the sewers. Three tacos remained of the five she brought with her; nerves seemed to spoil her appetite.

Azar, the cunning little shit, had introduced her as the Hero of Ferelden who had come to champion for them. Peppered with an obligatory, selfish goal; the Swan had come to reclaim her Shadow. It garnered their interest and the nearest thing she could expect to trust. Crows had a penchant for the dramatic, and Azar had dropped so fucking much.

This was not what she had signed up for; to be part of their war. Crow against Crow against Master. She only wanted help retrieving Zevran, and she couldn’t fault Azar for taking advantage of her name, after all, she didn’t say not to.

As unsettling as it was to be perceived as anything similar to a Master of Crows, she had missed being in a position of power. The attention, respect, being heard, making important choices based on distinctions few had. Leading, she could do. Leading _Crows_ was its own thing, and she had no business doing so. Thankfully, it was just for one mission, and whatever got Zevran back into her arms was worth doing.

The blank faces of Crows betrayed nothing. After a lifetime of their every thought, feeling, movement having a consequence, it didn’t surprise her. Their unwillingness to question had her wonder how infallible Masters must believe themselves to be, especially given they had no one to oversee them. Her own memory of leading often included asking the opinion of another; not because she believed herself to be wrong, but to gain perspective she didn’t know she didn’t have.

Nyla preferred leading with respect to the majority, Masters of Crows treated all with equal disrespect; of course the system of Crows would eventually topple around them. All it took was the escape of one Crow, one action which appeared to be selfless and in service of others, and they seemed to wake from their perception of being of no consequence. An assumed action of love reflected on these blank slates and had become a contagion. She smiled and chuckled through her nose. _Zevran and his luck._

Whatever came next for these people would potentially get very ugly, and she reminded herself amidst her crumbling resolve, it wasn’t her problem. _Free Zevran, run, and never look back._

The sound of the metal cover to the underground clinking back into its place caught her attention and she crawled across the roof on all fours.

“Azar,” Nyla hissed, and he didn’t hear her. Letting out a low whistle, he still didn’t hear. What was this little shit up to now? _A little early in an alliance for a betrayal…_ Nyla scowled, tucked her food in her pack, and crept down to follow.

Azar kept a quick pace which she followed. Nyla felt giddy and proud of herself as he breezed past her a second time, and she slipped from between a narrow space between homes to follow him.

Were she a Crow, she decided, stealth would be her specialty. Second, being manipulation or intimidation… but certainly not seduction. The mere thought of being sexual toward anyone apart from Zevran disgusted her. Could she follow through with a seduction if her life depended on it? She imagined so, at the expense of what felt like a vital part of herself. _They have no choice…_ specialty or no, they were tools. _Do or die._

Of course they wandered through life blind to feeling, when feeling what was there didn’t matter. _Do or die -_ a statement which became more poignant the more she sat with it. Kill or die. Manipulate or die. Seduce or die.

By the time Azar arrived at his destination, Nyla’s rage had hit a fever pitch, and she hid beneath her hood and mask, following him in not a minute later.

This house was smaller than Vescovi territory; no surrounding grounds, taller than it was wide. Being unkillable had it’s advantages as Nyla entered a room on the second floor without fear, walking in as if she belonged there. She made herself invisible among several others, crossing her arms, squaring her shoulders, glaring.

Her new ally did not look himself; brows scrunched, mouth in a frown, posture stiffened, his head bowed and fist rested on his chest. Nyla waited with bated breath and a heavy heart for the betrayal to unfold.

Azar began in a monotone voice, bereft of dramatic hand flourishes or playful inflections. “I have successfully-”

“I know,” the Master smirked, leaning forward on his throne, tucking his long hair behind a rounded ear with an elegant gesture. “In fact, I have known since you completed it early this morning. She sends her gratitude, which is all you get. Clearly, you have no need for coin since you did not come to retrieve it.”

With a fist against still held to his chest, Azar bowed and backed away, accepting his reward of gratitude without question. Nyla was able to let out a relieved breath; Azar had not come to betray. He had come to do as he was told. Apparently deviants were not immune to the whims of their Masters.

“I did not dismiss you, elf.” The Master spoke, casually pulling out a blade and standing to approach him. “I trust you were productive with the rest of your day?”

Azar kept his stare hard beneath the Master’s ire and Nyla watched, her fists and jaw clenched, wondering if the Master even knew Azar’s name, or simply chose not to use it as a means to dehumanize him.

The events playing before her had always lived as concepts - knowing and seeing were two very different things.

Crows were people groomed to do a particular task, the very essence of who they were beaten out of them for the sake of having perfect, obedient killers. People not allowed to be people. They were _slaves,_ and consistent with slave, they took each abuse in stride. They knew nothing else. This was their lives.

No wonder the Master had taken issue with Zevran being too cocky. Zevran wasn’t simply a cocky elf; more a deviant who needed to be put in his place. Nyla watched Azar become less Azar the moment he approached the Master, but he managed to keep his colorful identity while away from him. _A miracle. Like Zevran._ This had suddenly become very fucking personal.

“You have no answers for me?” The Master tossed his knife in the air and caught it. “Perhaps if we trim your pretty ears...”

Bristling and wide eyed, Nyla clenched her fists, the creak of her leather gloves loud in her ears. Fantasizing at great length about plunging a knife into this bastard’s face, she grit her teeth; surely Azar wouldn’t allow this piece of shit to cut his perfect ears.  

The Master smirked, a short, ivory handled knife dragged down Azar’s temple, along his cheek, leaving a shallow cut in its wake. Not a flinch or pained sound escaped Azar; Nyla would have broken this Master’s arm before metal even touched her skin.

“Get out,” the Master hissed, and Azar backed away, maintaining his salute until halfway to the doorway when he turned and walked out of the room.

Quick footfalls descended the stairs as Nyla tailed him, she stepped outside to see him running, and he ducked into an alleyway some half a block away. Sprinting to catch up to him, she skidded to a halt to find him hunched over, hands resting on his knees. He spat twice on the ground.

“Azar?” She spoke, warning him of her approach.  
  
“Swan,” he answered breathlessly and spat again, waving her away. “Go away.”

Stepping closer to him, she rested a hand on his back. “Can I help?”

His reply was to retch several times and projectile vomit onto the ground.

“Go away!” He choked out, spitting again.

“Is it preferable to endure this alone?” She stepped closer, and his subtle lean toward her spoke volumes.

“Why,” he panted, coughed and then spit. “Are you like this?”

“How is my being this way so foreign to you?” She asked, and Azar let out a weak giggle. “Is kindness so scarce to a Crow?”

“No.” He blinked bloodshot eyes at her, and moved to sit with his back against the wall. “The Master had been kind enough to only poison me.”

Nyla sat next to him, reflecting on when she first knew Zevran, a newfound understanding of why he had seemed so taken aback by her on the regular. Kindness wasn’t kindness to Crows. Less pain was a kindness. Being allowed to live, a kindness. “Is there something for this poison?”

“I have more time than I have antidote. I can wait this out.” He sniffled deeply and wiped his nose with his gloved hand. “How much did you see?”

“Everything. I followed you.” She sighed, cringed and pat his back when he turned away to lean over and vomit again. “I suspected you were going to betray me.”

“For just a moment, Swan, I considered it.” He coughed, spit and sniffled. “To preserve my ears.”

“You were very brave,” she spoke softly.    

He nodded with a brief smile. “This new Master has a hatred for elves. It is Arainai fucking tradition to do so.”

“You’re Arainai?” Nyla tilted her head at him and he spontaneously vomited between his own feet; it was little more than bile. “Use the fucking antidote, Azar. Maker’s breath.”

“I save them for missions.” He sniffled and swiped at his nose. Taking a few deep breaths with jaw clenched he shuddered. “He always finds reason to withhold pay. He can barely afford to keep that hovel. I can’t afford to keep up my immunity.”

“Why would you let him do this?”

“Because he is the Master. _Shit.”_ Azar shuddered and cringed. “I am to uphold my honor and face retribution.”

“Retribution? Truly?” Apparently Crows didn’t understand the differences between retribution and punishment. “Remind me, what was he… getting retribution for?”

“He didn’t know the particulars, but he knew I was… not doing my job.” He spasmed and groaned, and Nyla reached out to gather him in her arms. “You are kind, for a murderess,” he spoke through a breathless chuckle.

“Murder did not always come so easily to me.” Nyla held tight to him as he curled in on himself. “Hope motivates me, desperation pushes me too far,” she mused, hoping idle conversation would help carry him through his ordeal.

“Desperation?” He panted, preparing for the cold-sweats of a poison tapering away. “Like when you weep and glow?”

“Yes,” She spoke softly, unwilling to tell him she had no idea what was happening to her. “If you were the Master, what would you have done?”

“I wouldn’t have cut their fucking face.” He chuckled and laid back with a grunt. Using her leg as a pillow, he blinked up at her and tilted his head. “How bad is it?”

“I have seen worse.” Taking a cloth from his trembling hand to lay it along the aggravated cut down his cheek, she continued, “You wouldn’t have cut their face. What would you have done instead?”

“It isn’t a complex matter. No work, no coin.”  

“Makes sense.” She tilted her head, trying to see past the catlike glow of his eyes in the moonlight. “What would you do if they never worked?”

“That is a question.” He ran a palm over his sweat-slicked forehead and sighed, blinking at her. “I would wonder if they even wanted to be an assassin. I should expect them to take this seriously.”

“Those are fair points, Azar, but that’s not an answer. Your assassin will not take contracts, they don’t come to collect their coin. You can’t tell if they even want to be an assassin. What do you do?”

“I think they should be let go,” he spoke thoughtfully. “Possibly killed. Why are you asking?”

“I have seen you with the Master, Azar. You have managed to be remarkable despite a lot of cruelty. I see that, you see that. However, I am not convinced you know how to be a different Master than the ones you have known.”

“No?” He tilted her head at her. “You think I could be no different than he?”

“I suspect you will be exactly as you know how to be, Azar.”

“So... someone who is _not_ already a Crow should lead, if we want things to be different?”

“I don’t know,” Nyla spoke softly. “That could be too much change. Too many Crows thrust into so much chaos, suffering strange fates.”

“What would you suggest?” Azar sat up and wiped the sweat from his face with his cloth.

“Someone who knows what it is to be a Crow, and knows how to be something else.”

“Like you?” He smiled with an eager nod. “I could do with a Hero Grandmaster.”

Nyla laugh-snorted and reached out with both arms to ruffle his short, dark hair. “I told you it wasn’t all about power for you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Swan!” He huffed and batted her hand away. “Your laugh is ridiculous.”

“If I am honest, Azar, I think you need Zevran.”

 

*******

 

Zevran sat on the roof, watching assassins approach and turn away, three candles in a window which signified the Master is indisposed, as he had seen Ghita do twice before an extended absence. It would be days before curiosity arose and they broke in to find Ghita’s corpse in a cage.

Zevran had wanted to kill her, his vengeful nature coming forward in remembering what she did to them. Keeping her alive only to receive Nyla’s wrath didn’t feel right; encouraging his spouse to be the monster he was... didn’t feel right.

It was a shame to have killed a decent Master. Ghita fed her assassins, housed them, lead with a heavy hand but allowed them curiosity, up to a point. Her instability and inconsistency had worked in her favor, keeping them in line while, on occasion, letting them live as more than shadows. Their lives were decent for a Crow.

Returning to Antiva had always been a pleasure despite the circumstances, but not this time. He had felt Nyla’s death as if it had been his own, felt her absence as if missing a limb. What was the purpose of anything without her? Why did he leave her to go out on his own in the first place when he sorely didn’t want to? Fool Zevran had made the mess bigger; perhaps their luck _had_ rubbed off on each other.

He still felt the hurt and anger of watching her die, reeling in it over and over as assassins came and went and he refrained from killing them. This was an anger which could not be tempered by killing. He needed _her_ to carry him through the storm as she had many times before - as they had done for each other many times before.

_Mi amor, where are you?_

 

*******

 

“Hello there, Hero,” Azar purred. Nyla turned as she leaped to her feet, flicking her wrists. Giggling, he threw two paper-wrapped tacos at her. “Nice instinct.”

“Dammit, Azar.” She put her weapons away. “Must you follow me everywhere?”

“Practically begged me to follow, skulking off like that,” he chuckled sitting down beside her to stare at the Vescovi House.

Offering him three coins which he waved away, she thrusted them upon him, given he had brought her every meal since the moment they met. They ate in silence, watching nobody come or go.

“Wait here. I’m going in,” she grumbled.

“You said they are trying to bait you, yes?” He spoke with his mouth full, letting go of his taco with one hand to give a dismissive wave. “Probably a trap. Wait for the others. And stop glowing. People die when you glow, and I am the only one here.”

“Shit.” She whispered, taking a deep breath and a moment to finally meet his eyes. “Your face is healed.”

“Oh! Jimena is a mage,” he nodded. “Normally, I would not ask her to do such a thing, but after tonight we probably won’t have to explain it to the Master.”

Nyla closed her eyes, took a deep breath, clenching her jaw. After a few moments she met his eyes with a nod, unable to articulate how furious it made her to imagine how many wounds stung and festered with the remedy right there, and how commonplace it must have been for him to share it with such ambivalence.  

“When you get angry your cheeks get splotchy red, Swan. It’s kind of ugly.”

This caught her off guard, and she hid behind her hand, laughed between snorts, side-eying his playful smirk; the little shit looked so pleased with himself. When all grew quiet again, she looked closer at his cheek, the faintest line of white where a wound had been. A scar left by a Master, a lifelong reminder of cruelty. The drag of a blade along his flawless skin lived in her memory as if she had been personally affronted. With a glance at the early afternoon sky, there were several hours until the others would show for their assault on House Vescovi, which they should not be lingering around to begin with.

“Here is the plan, Azar.” Nyla jumped up and strode to the edge of the roof. “We are claiming House Arainai and its people.”

“Woah,” he jumped up and went toward her. “Wait.”

“I’ll do it without you, just don’t follow me.”

“That’s not it, Swan. I will come with.”

“What, then?” She furrowed her brow and tilted her head.

He held her arm and looked her in the eyes. “You look like shit, and that armor you stole does not suit you.”

Nyla snorted and shook her head, turning to slide down the drainpipe with Azar close behind.

“No, Swan, seriously, you cannot go conquering houses looking like an urchin! When is the last time you bathed?”

 

*******

 

A veiled, glowing, woman in white killed a tyrant, inspiring a collective breath of relief and trepidation among the Crows of the dwindling House Arainai. Of the mere thirty-six Arainai assassins, less than half bore witness to the Swan’s victory.

Under the excessive neglect born by Zevran’s wrath, weary Crows welcomed the change, those who opposed lacked the courage to do so out loud to the Shadow’s Swan, killer of Crows. The Swan’s trail of feathers may have been of no consequence to the Masters, but had not gone unnoticed by their assassins. Feared and respected with their blood on her hands, she had been declared better to have as an ally.

 _Anything to save him is worth doing,_ she told herself as she declared herself Master of House Arainai

 _Anything to save him is worth doing,_ she reminded herself again as she traveled above ground with Azar by her side and some fifty slinking shadows in her periphery.

Standing atop house Vescovi, ropes in place, the Shadow’s Swan held an arm up to signal the charge. _Anything to save him is worth doing;_ she ran and jumped hurling herself through the window holding onto the end of a rope.

Overrun by Ghita’s curious assassins, Zevran had been whittling them down, one assassin at a time, running along walls, swinging on the chandelier, anything to gain ground and reduce their numbers; a sudden cacophony of doors kicked in and a shower of broken glass distracted the fray.   

Peering from behind a protective arm, Zevran stood tall to take her in; all white leathers, dark hair in a loose bun, face hidden behind a black veil, the swan etched on her silverite chestplate. White light shone through her eyes and cracks in her skin; disturbing, and a relief, to know he hadn’t imagined it. An elven man with dark eyes and hair stood too close beside her with the predatory glare of a protector.

Crows filed in through busted down doors, swung in through broken windows, and Zevran shook his head with a smirk and a chuckle through his nose; his wife had so much explaining to do.  

“Amor,” he purred, feeling a shiver of excitement to see the light she emitted intensify at hearing his voice. Her hard stare drifted from Ghita’s corpse in a cage to his would-be-attackers.

“There will be no more harm to the Shadow,” she commanded, flicking her wrists to unsheathe her daggers. “Or to you, if you submit.”

A tense silence followed.

“Your masters are dead, your houses fallen.” Nyla’s voice carried as white lights flickered through her; all stared at her, their eyes wide with awe. “No longer will you scavenge for food and live underground. You will not be denied your coin, your identities, your companionship, or healing. Vescovi and Arainai belong to me now. I am your Master, and all guilds will bend to our will as we become Talon.”

Zevran stared at her with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. His love had become so entangled in their cause, their desperation, she had become a Crow. _Wardens aren’t supposed to involve in politics, my ass._ She had never followed that rule, she had never been wrong... and she wasn’t wrong _._

Longing for the days when her only desire was to belong to him, Zevran remembered, _I did this to her._ She had become exactly what he had encouraged her to be - but this wasn't _her._

“I challenge you, Swan,” Zevran spoke, and her glowing stare shifted to him.


	15. The Swan and Her Shadow

Instead of winning his freedom, Zevran saw his place among the Crows solidify; the alternative, leaving the woman he had tied himself to struggle alone, which he couldn’t imagine doing a second time.

“You can’t lead Crows. A noble hero raised in wealth and privilege. They don’t know what you are offering. Allowing them companionship? They have companionship as far as they know. They _have_ identities. Assassin. Murderer. Whore. Thug. Crow. You are soft. Crows cannot be soft.”

“I am commanding no one to be soft,” she asserted, unveiling her face, her own voice becoming a distant echo as she stared into golden eyes. “Do you imagine I don’t know what it is to live in shackles? As a Warden. A Hero. A soul whose mate had left her behind. Do you believe yourself to be my better?”

Pushing aside the sting of her reminder, of being another who had left her, he replied, “I am not prepared to lead, and I believe you to be my equal in this.”

“This war began with your rebellion, Zevran.” She stepped closer to him. “Your actions have thrown the Crows into chaos. The wrong people suffer in the wake of your wrath.”

“When has a Crow _not_ suffered?” He spoke incredulously with a quirk of an eyebrow. “What have my actions caused apart from more of the same shit they have always had?”

 _“Yes!”_ Nyla hissed, pointing at him, continuing an impassioned speech. _“You_ understand them better than anyone could! You have seen this life, have lived many years removed from it and _thrived_ . Show them how to thrive in a way they can learn. Teach them _balance._ Join me - join _us_ in finishing what you have begun.”  

Taking in her glowing, otherworldly glare, he had always known her to be clever, sneaky, persuasive, manipulative, but he hadn’t seen it in so long; he had to admit being impressed. It didn’t change that she had skillfully cornered him into joining her, joining _Crows_ ; when he challenged her, this was not what he was going for.

“We can do this, Zevran,” she spoke softly, the unsettling light fading to reveal the big, dark eyes he had fallen for. “I have found the hopeless, and have given them hope.”

“She has,” Azar spoke up from his place close behind Nyla. “And with the soft hand of the Swan and the just rule of the Shadow, two legends could lead us to greatness. With dignity and honor.”

Zevran narrowed his eyes at the pretty, elven man who unabashedly met his stare. When had this become about greatness and not their quality of life? _Oh yes, Crow bullshit._

“Join us.” Nyla asserted it as a command, but her eyes pleaded with him.

 _This is it? Lose her or join Crows?_ He laughed with a smirk. “I will join you.” _Power hungry, noble, pain in my ass._

“I’m glad we have reached this understanding.” Nyla pressed a fist to her chest and bowed her head. “Grandmaster Arainai.”

All followed suit. Fists on chests and lowered heads, all eyes on him; the last thing he had ever wanted.

“Arainai and Vescovi belong to us now,” Nyla asserted to all with a booming voice, and then turned to her elf with big, dark eyes. “Azar.”

“Yes, Swan,” he replied, eager for instruction, inspiring within Zevran a twinge of possessiveness, envy, and a sense of comfort in knowing she had gathered apparently genuine allies.

“The Arainai grounds will be home to those who have none. No one sleeps underground unless they choose to.” She looked to the crowd of faces. “You will spread word. The Shadow and Swan have come into power. Find the lost ones and those burdened by the poverty of dwindling houses. Let them know there is a place for them here.”

She looked to Zevran who gave a firm nod and turned to go, glaring back at Nyla to be sure she followed. He stopped walking when she did.

“Jimena.” Nyla approached their mage and laid a hand on her arm and spoke low. “If you please, put this place back together. If this is beyond your capabilities, there is no shame.”

 _Too soft._ They were already learning through every action to manipulate her. Zevran pursed his lips, glaring as she followed him to Ghita’s former private quarters.The moment he closed the door and silence fell upon them, pacing around each other, dark eyes met honey-brown, the tension palpable as they took each other in as if for the first time.

Her heart pounded in just having him near again. She had won. They had the closest thing to peace she could achieve for them, a victory soured by the furrowed brow and hurt in her husband’s stare.  “My love?”

“Do you know the implications of declaring us grandmaster?” Zevran paused for a deep, calming breath; this was not the reunion he had wanted with her.

“I have not started the war,” Nyla asserted, pointing a finger. “It began with your rebellion. All of this is a result of what you started, and we are going to finish it.”

“Rebellion.” Shaking his head and pursing his lips, he took a deep breath. _“They_ give my actions this meaning.”

“Yes, love. You threw the Crows into chaos. The wrong people suffered and they have become _aware_ of their suffering. We are going to finish what you started.”

“Nyla, I am hard pressed to give a fuck about Crows.”

“What about the children?” She asked, tilting her head at him.

“That is different,” he whispered, unable to meet her eyes. She knew him too well. Of course she said the very thing that could soften him. “If you had come alone just a few hours sooner we would be gone, and now I am to spend my life serving the establishment I hate. Am I the only one who sees the irony in this?”

“I see it.” Nyla stepped closer to him, reaching out and then pulling away, the desire to touch repressed by the need to say so much. “And I will serve by your side.”

“And hate it with me,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before meeting her eyes. “And what of your calling? What of all we had planned?”

“None of it had ever been possible. The inevitable happened, though sooner than I had imagined.” White lights shone through her. “The quickling pulled me from my wanderings with prayers of love and longing which could not be ignored. We had to save you. Joining the enemy was the only way. They are too big. This is the only way.”

Without being able to get a firm grasp on one single question, he tilted his head at her and reached out to caress the familiar contours of her soft, warm, glowing cheek. It warmed him, to feel her lean into his touch.

“What are you?” He spoke softly. “What is this?”

“There is so much blood on our hands,” she whispered. “Blood of Wardens. Blood of Crows. Blood of Kings. We saved you, Zevran, and the new purpose will redeem us.”   

“Nyla,” he addressed her again to draw her attention. “Disturbing and dramatic ramblings aside, who is _‘we’?_ Who is _‘us’?”_

“I can’t tell myself apart from her, but I feel her there,” Nyla spoke softly. When it didn’t seem he understood, she continued, “I'm in a predicament similar to Wynne.”

A cold dread spread through him. “You died,” he whispered, recalling the fear in her eyes as they pitched her away like some meaningless thing.

The light faded and she nodded with unshed tears in her eyes. Zevran's tender gaze reminded Nyla of what it was like for him to have her, and the wall Nyla had built around herself cracked.

“I don’t know if I can die or age. Or why I need food or sleep. What is it to reside within a living form if not to die?”

As if the world hadn’t burdened her with enough in her twenty-five years, which Zevran imagined, just like him, felt like a hundred.

He closed the distance between them, an arm wrapped around her waist, a thumb brushing along her jaw. She had died, and the Maker saw fit to let him keep her anyway. _How beautiful. How cruel. Much like everything._

“You are still here. What peace can be found, we will find it together.”

“Are you sure?” Nyla glared, a spark of anger shuddering through her. “I have slept on the streets of your glittering gem, starved with your urchins, painted the ground with the blood of our enemies all for love of you. I swear to the fucking Maker, Zevran, I will not chase you again.”

There were only so many words to say when someone had died for you, returned through sheer force of will, left a trail of death to get to you and then stood by your side to conquer a nation; life, fate, as always, remained a fickle whore.

“Liar,” he whispered with a smile, leaning in to press his lips to hers.

 

*******

 

Zevran woke with with a start, expecting to see bars in front of his eyes, repressing the impulse to reach for them.

“I'm here,” Nyla spoke softly with a smile, sitting naked in a wicker chair at a desk. Having had her own startled waking with lack of birdshit covered rooftops and morning fog she added, “We are here.”

It hadn’t all been a dream. Or nightmare. They were in their room. Masters of Crows. _Fuck._

“Ghita knew how to keep her books,” She closed the ledger, stood up, and Zevran smiled at the haphazard indentations left on her rear and the backs of her legs. “I had to pick the locks to get to them, but everything is here. Records of completed contracts. Pending contracts. Interesting business, talking about ending a life as if buying goods. If a client specifies to a contractor a desire for painful death, do you comply with their wishes?”

“Yes, of course. And the keys to everything are in the hip pouch of my armor,” he spoke softly, holding his arms out as she crawled across the bed. “I feel well outside of my element. We are Crows now.”

“The only thing I need to feel at home is you.” Nyla gave him a reassuring smile as she curled up with him. Legs entwined, arms tight around each other, she pressed a cheek to his chest, his chin rested atop her head. “The weather here is always perfect. I thought it would be too hot, like Nevarra. But your Antiva City is… filthy. And it smells like shit. The food is a hazard.”

“You haven’t seen the nicer parts.” He chuckled, feeling a sudden excitement. For all the shit he found himself in, at least he had Antiva City to share with her. “I will show you someday. I have always wanted to.”

“Why not today?” Nyla smiled, letting her eyes drift closed to the sound of his heart. “Before everything goes to shit and we haven’t time for such things.”

“We wouldn’t get anywhere on foot with time enough to enjoy it, we need to get horses.”

“Our horses are in Ghita’s stables across the way,” Nyla sighed. “I snuck in to see Horse once. Couldn’t retrieve her. Couldn’t afford to give her the care she needs, anyway.”

“Your white leathers must have cost a fortune, surely you had our coin.” He felt her subtly tense in his arms.

“Our coin was lost to the sea. My armor, apart from the plate, was beyond repair.” Nyla took a stabilizing breath, pushing away thoughts of shredded leather, sticky with her own blood. “I promised to pay each twofold what they loaned.”

Lifting her chin with a bent finger, he melted into her gaze, leaned in to brush his nose against hers, left a gentle kiss on her mouth. “Did it hurt to die?”

“Immensely. I bounced off some rocks on the way down. Then I hit the water. It didn’t take long for me to feel numb. And then I drowned...” Her voice trailed off as she lost herself in the memory of encroaching darkness, the loneliness she had no time to feel before her heart beat for the last time. She shuddered, and her eyebrows knitted together. “What a shitty question. Of course it hurt.”

He laughed for a moment, though he felt like weeping. “Do you blame me for your death?”

“A little,” Nyla smiled, meeting his eyes. “And I forgive you.”

“So soft,” he whispered, wrapping himself around her to enjoy what could be the last of their quiet moments. 

 

*******

 

Of all places in Antiva he wanted to show her, it seemed to make sense to take here there. In order to make his life in Antiva as a Crow bearable, he needed to face it. Perhaps he just needed to feel Nyla with him again. Not some spirit, or some strange spirit/Nyla bullshit. He needed to see _her._ What better way to bond with her than in the way they always had; through tragedy.

His fingers laced with hers, the reins of their horses in their opposite hands, he lead her through familiar woodlands just outside Rialto. “Do you remember, amor, when we had gone to Highever?”

“Yes, of course.” She offered a soft smile which he did not return.

He raised their hands to kiss the back of hers. “This… I think, would be... my Highever.”

Nyla looked around, surrounded by trees and the calming sounds of an Antivan early afternoon. In the distance she could hear a waterfall she had only moments before felt excited to see - while standing a great distance away.

“Do you mean Rialto?” She asked softly, and his gaze remained pointed at the ground.  

Zevran shook his head. “Old wounds sometimes refuse to heal, amor. I understand you better.”

_‘I love you, Zevran.’  
‘Even if that were true, Rinnala, why the fuck would I care?’ _

“Do you want to speak it?” Reaching out to him, he gently waved her away. Taken aback, Nyla tilted her head and waited; she couldn’t recall a time Zevran refused her touch.  

“Ever since the moment of my birth, those close to me have died. If not by my hand, by my foolishness.” He spoke as if sharing a mundane story, needing distance from thoughts so deeply personal even he had little desire to look at them. “I killed my own friends as a child, until I learned to close off to friendship. Then Rinna who… touched something within me. Then Taliesen. You.”  

“I’m not dead, love,” she said, moving toward him only for him to step away and turn his back toward her.

“I fear I caused you the worst fate of all of them.” Shuddering through the remorse of speaking the thought aloud, he didn’t want anyone’s eyes on him, but he could feel hers burning into his back.

“Live and learn, Zevran,” she replied, closing the distance between them.

“Learn what?” He asked, turning around to see her closer than he expected, and he backed away. “Learn not to be born? Learn not to love? Tried that one, ended up fucking _married_. Learn to trust? Learn to leave? Learn to stay?”

“Learn to stay, darling.” She smiled, aching to see the hurt and confusion in his stare. “Learn to enjoy us without fear of loss.”

Zevran laughed, turning his face from her to hide the tears. “I had to find an immortal wife in order to keep her. Then again, I may have an immortal _ghoul_ in ten years.”

“Look at me.” Nyla closed the distance between them, and he swept a tear away before he met her eyes. “I have you.”

Zevran nodded, but he didn’t feel it. To sore, too angry, he wanted to be alone, but he wanted to share that with her too. Taking a few steps, he knelt down at the base of a tree and beckoned her with a wave of his hand. Sweeping away a few leaves, he moved the grass to reveal a carved, jagged letter _R._

Nyla’s eyes widened with sudden understanding of why things had become so dark, and why he invited her so close just to push her away; he was struggling. “This place is where you betrayed her?”  

As jarring as it was to hear Nyla say those words, she wasn’t wrong, so he nodded.  “I was so quick to believe she would betray us. I should have trusted-”

“You should have trusted her?” Nyla interrupted, commanding his attention as they sat back on their heels, facing each other. “No. Your Master Eoman would have killed you if you hadn’t killed her, and bearing that in mind, I certainly don’t regret the loss of her.”

Zevran chuckled, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. “Fuck off with trying to make me feel better about this, Nyla. What a shitty thing to say.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.” She smiled, blinking back tears so not to smudge the kohl Zevran had meticulously painted around her eyes. Tormenting him a little, while painful, often brought him closer to his truth. “Tell me he wouldn't have killed you for failing to kill Rinna.”

He clenched his jaw and his fists, closing his eyes for a few moments to see a disorienting flash of Rinna’s pleading, blue eyes. “If I had known, I would have done something. Fought for her.”

“Naturally,” Nyla crooned. “Of course you would have. You loved her, which is why her supposed betrayal hurt you so.”

“Such lasting faith in humanity you have!” Zevran chuckled with a sniffle, looking away as tears fell. “I didn’t know love.”

Reaching out with a hand to touch his chin, to encourage him to look at her, she commanded softly, “Face me.” A few moments passed before he reluctantly dragged his gaze to hers. “In hindsight, would you say you loved her?”

 _That,_ was something he did not want to feel. Holding his head in his hands, Nyla’s loving touch on his shoulders, he felt overwhelmed. _Crow. Monster._ He did what he was made for all too easily. A trail of blood and broken souls behind him; born to kill, and more blood on the horizon. He was death, when life is all he had ever wanted.

“I have you,” Nyla crooned, folding her arms around him, he abruptly pushed her away.

“Do you?” He asked, meeting her soft stare with bleary eyes. “Did you have me when you cornered me into being a master of the order I have fought for fucking _years_ to escape?”

“Yes.” She held her palms up, imploring him to slow down. Nyla knew him well enough to understand, if he touched on his pain, if he opened the floodgates, all pain would come forward; in facing Rinna’s death, he faced _everything._ “Yes. I had you.”

“ _Years_ of fighting for freedom I will never have.” He swept away tears which refused to stop flowing. “Those who owned me spent years teaching me the _wrong fucking things!_ Do you know what it is like to regret your entire life? To know that no matter how much you change, you will always be a monster at your very core? And now I _serve_ them! _Again!”_

“Breathe. Zevran. Look at my eyes.” She inched closer to him. “You are more free than you know. Those were not the words of a monster.”

“Not the words of a monster,” he whispered, wiping away fresh tears with his palms; she did have a point. “Fuck, I am too tired.”

“Then I will carry you,” she replied, and in remembering her devotion, Zevran's heart clenched.

“I am still reeling from what Crows did to you.” He let out a quivering breath. “I caused what I feared most. I left because I’m tired of watching you die.”

“Then I will live forever.” She smirked, and to her relief, Zevran let her rest a palm on the back of his neck.

Zevran had no words, only the ache of the world on his shoulders as he pulled his lover to himself with such strength she let out a soft grunt.

“There is too much happening,” Zevran whispered. “Too many things to say. So much unexplained.”

“In time, darling. We will be free,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. “When it is all said and done, we will fuck off into the sunset.”

“Waking up in your arms is all I need,” he whispered in hopes that speaking it would make it feel more true; it did, and he felt more grounded. “I am hugging my wife on the very spot I killed my first love. I don't like it.”

“Let me take you from this dark place,” she crooned. “You will feel better after we drink a lot of fine, Antivan brandy.”

Resting his forehead against hers, Zevran felt more himself again. Remembering what it was like to be with her; this was what he needed more than anything. Standing with her, he elongated his body into a satisfying stretch, his shoulders crunching as they settled into rediscovered relaxation.

“One thing which has always puzzled me, amor,” Zevran began, feeling lighter as he took her hand with a soft gaze back at Rinna’s tree. “Knowing the loss of Rinna took me to you doesn’t make me feel better, somehow.”

Nyla smiled, holding tight to his hand. Zevran would never understand how much awe he inspired in her. How he would dive headlong into the storm, coming out the other side clean and renewed, ready to face the world.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be glad to have lost Rinna in exchange for something better. Having you helped me heal from the loss of Alistair, but it hasn’t erased the suffering I endured.”

“Yes,” he sighed, reaching out to sweep her hair from her exposed shoulder. “Smart. Yes. I still feel the changes within myself, from the suffering. Is it like this for you?”

Nyla hummed her agreement with a nod. “Most of the changes… are not good changes. But let’s not speak of such things right now, darling. I hear a waterfall nearby, and as much as I love seeing you in those fancy clothes, I need you to take them off and let me watch you swim. And then I’ll get lipstick all over you.”

He lowered one eyebrow and smirked. “I would imagine this to be an inappropriate time for flirtations, yet I am enamored.”

“I’m not the only one who falls easily to flattery,” she purred, melting in beholding his shy smile, lifting the hem of her dress as they stepped over a log.

“Amor, why is a man like a rainstorm?” Zevran asked, and he almost laughed with glee in seeing her side-eye him with a furrowed brow; how he missed that look, almost as much as he missed her laugh. “Because you don't know when he will come, how many inches you will get, or how long he will stay.”

 

* * *

 

Thank you [@reetriesart](http://reetriesart.tumblr.com/), I love this. You're amazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their story will continue! Chapter one of "War of the Crows" will be released soon!  
> Thanks for reading <3


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